Busy Signal
by Marianna Morgan
Summary: Season Two – Hurt Sam / Big Brother Dean / Awesome Bobby – If Sam was unconscious in a ditch out on Old Mill Road that would certainly help explain why the kid was late and why Dean couldn't reach him on his phone for the past half hour.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: Season Two – Hurt Sam / Big Brother Dean / Awesome Bobby – If Sam was unconscious in a ditch out on Old Mill Road that would certainly help explain why the kid was late and why Dean couldn't reach him on his phone for the past half hour.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.

**Warnings**: General spoilers for season two and usual language

**A/N**: Inspired by the E/O Challenge word-of-the-week a few weeks ago (busy) and written in honor of my two-year anniversary on this site (today)

* * *

_I'm scared as hell 'cause I can't get you on the telephone. ~ Nickelback_

* * *

If Dean hated anything, he hated a busy signal.

Especially when it was almost dinnertime and he was ready to eat.

And especially when the busy signal came from Sam's phone – over and over – when he tried to call his brother.

After all, the kid had left Bobby's house over an hour ago on an errand that should've taken 20 minutes.

Before Sam had headed to town, Bobby had called ahead to double-check that the library had the book they were looking for; had even had the damn thing held on reserve. Sam should've been in and out and back – _safe and sound_ – at Singer Salvage long before now.

So where the hell was he?

Dean sighed, checking his watch before glancing at Bobby.

"Still not answering?" the older hunter asked as he stirred the chili simmering on the stove; concern in his tone and expression as he watched Dean pace back and forth across the scratched and faded hardwood of his kitchen.

"Still not _ringing_," Dean corrected, his own worry expressing itself in his sharp tone; wishing the library wasn't already closed so he could call and ask if Sam ever arrived...or if he had arrived, when he had left heading back home.

Because something wasn't right; Dean could feel it.

Bobby frowned in confusion. "Still not ringing?" he repeated. "Who's he talkin' to?"

Dean shook his head in response. "Nobody."

Because the only two people Sam would talk with this long on the phone were himself and Bobby.

But neither of them had heard from the kid since Sam had left the house earlier.

And now for the past half hour, Sam's phone had rung busy.

...which meant what?

Dean shook his head again, dispersing all of the worse-case scenarios that flooded his mind, and exhaled slowly and deliberately even as he continued to pace; his stomach twisting tighter and his heart beating faster every time that busy signal buzzed in his ear.

Like now...

"Dammit," Dean hissed and immediately pressed the redial button on his phone; _needing _to talk to Sam, to hear the kid's voice and to know that his brother was okay.

But the line rang busy...again.

"Come on, Sam..." Dean growled, redialing and checking his watch.

Bobby's frown deepened; tapping the wooden spoon on the side of the pot as he thought about Dean's earlier response. "Why is the line still busy if he ain't talkin' to nobody?"

It was a logical question.

But it only irritated an already annoyed and worried big brother.

Dean cut his eyes at Bobby as he paced; knowing the older hunter was trying to help by thinking aloud but feeling his nerves fray just a little more each time Bobby spoke.

"Dean..."

"I don't know," Dean snapped – hating when he had to make that admission...especially when the question involved Sam – and redialed his brother's number once more; swearing vehemently when the busy signal predictably droned in his ear.

Bobby inwardly cringed at Dean's reaction; vaguely wondering if Dean had made up some of the words he had just said and bracing himself in case Dean hurled the phone across the room in his worried frustration.

But Dean's grip only tightened around the phone he held as he stared at Bobby.

"That's it," Dean suddenly announced, grabbing his jacket from the back of one of the chairs at the table and crossing the kitchen; snatching the Impala's keys from the counter on his way out.

Bobby hastily propped the spoon on the side of the pot and wiped his hands on his stained _Never Trust A Skinny Cook_ apron before quickly following Dean to the backdoor. "Where are you going?"

"To find Sam," Dean answered over his shoulder as he slid his arms through the sleeves of his leather jacket and stomped down the porch steps. "And if he's not sick or bleeding when I find him, then I'm gonna kick his ass."

Bobby chuckled quietly at Dean's short list of acceptable reasons for Sam's phone to ring busy for the past half hour. "Call me if you need me..."

"Thanks. But I can kick his ass by myself," Dean dryly informed as he pocketed his cell phone and opened the Impala's driver's side door.

Bobby snorted. "I meant call me if you need anything else."

The unspoken possibility of Sam being injured or in some kind of other trouble hung in the air.

"I can take care of that, too," Dean reminded confidently and ducked into his car. "But if he calls or comes back – "

" – I got it," Bobby assured; not needing to hear the rest of Dean's instructions to know what to do with their youngest if Sam contacted him or returned to the house. "Just go find your brother and bring him home before that storm blows in...and before my chili gets cold."

Dean offered a small smile at Bobby's grumbling and then paused; momentarily touched that Bobby had described his house as their home because he and Sam certainly saw it that way, too...especially since their dad had died.

Dean swallowed at the reminder – John Winchester dead almost two months – and shook himself; refusing to think about that now and instead nodding at Bobby's advice about beating the storm.

"I'll be in touch," Dean promised and glanced up at the threatening sky through the windshield as he closed the Impala's door and cranked her engine; feeling Bobby's gaze as he backed the car away from the house and headed toward the gravel path that would lead to the highway...and to Sam, wherever the kid was.

Bobby stood on the porch with his arms across his chest until he could no longer see the Impala's taillights glowing red in the dusk and sighed; wishing he didn't have a bad feeling about what Dean was going to find...but he did.

And the older hunter could tell that Dean did, too.

Bobby sighed again. "You better be okay, kid..." he gruffly told a missing Sam and glanced over his shoulder in the direction Dean had disappeared before entering the house.

Crossing back to the stove, Bobby had just resumed stirring his pot of chili when the phone rang; the one farthest down the line among his bank of phones that was labeled _Singer Salvage Towing_.

"Balls," Bobby commented bitterly and considered not answering the phone.

Because he really didn't have the time or the interest in venturing away from the house on a wrecker call; especially since it was getting dark...especially since it was about to rain...and _especially_ since Sam was missing and Dean might need his help with the kid later.

But...

Bobby sighed as the phone continued to ring and rolled his eyes; hating his sense of duty.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'..." Bobby groused as he once again propped his spoon on the side of the pot and wiped his hands on his apron; crossing to the row of phones on the wall and finally answering the one that wouldn't shut up. "This is Singer."

"Hey, Bobby. It's Ned..."

Bobby nodded in recognition of the voice and rubbed the bridge of his nose between two calloused fingers. "Officer Davis."

Ned chuckled at the formal greeting and blunt tone; knowing some of the guys in the force didn't like Bobby Singer because of his gruff exterior.

But Bobby reminded Ned of his own father and he had always easily interacted with the man, which was why calling Bobby when the police department needed something from him had become one of Ned's unofficial duties over the years.

Ned cleared his throat. "Listen, Bobby. I know it's almost dinnertime, and I hate to call a man away from his supper. But we've got a wreck over here on Old Mill Road. A storm blew up kinda sudden and a driver's gone off in the ditch...was wondering if maybe you could help us out?"

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "Old Mill Road?" he repeated, ignoring how his stomach clenched at that information and reminding himself that just because that was the main road between his house and town didn't mean that the driver in the ditch was Sam.

"Yeah," Ned confirmed about the wreck's location. "Not sure of any other details yet. We're in route to the scene right now. Just got the call from a passerby..."

Bobby nodded, wishing his bad feeling about Sam hadn't just tripled.

Because if anybody attracted bad luck, it was Dean's little brother.

And if the kid was unconscious in a ditch out on Old Mill Road that would certainly help explain why Sam was late and why Dean couldn't reach him on his phone for the past half hour.

Bobby swallowed at the implications.

Had Sam been out there all this time and had just now been noticed by a passerby?

It was possible.

But more than that, it was _likely_.

Bobby sighed harshly, rubbing his hand down his bearded face and then around the back of his neck; knowing he was getting ahead of himself by jumping to conclusions based on such sparse information...but unable to resist.

Maybe he should call Dean?

Bobby shook his head almost as quickly as the thought occurred. Because there was no need to worry an already worried big brother until Bobby had more conclusive facts.

And right now all he knew was that his towing services were needed to help clear a wreck on Old Mill Road.

It could be just as simple as that – helping to pull a stranger's vehicle from the ditch.

But Bobby doubted it.

Hunter luck – or more accurately, _Winchester luck_ – didn't work like that.

If bad shit could happen, it did.

And it usually happened when they least expected it.

Like when Sam was out on a routine errand to pick up a book...

"Dammit, kid..." Bobby sighed and shook his head.

"Bobby?" Ned called from the opposite end of the line. "You still there?"

"Yeah," Bobby answered distractedly, untying his apron with one hand literally behind his back.

"Oh, good..." Ned replied, his voice cracking as the phone connection cut in and out. "The signal's gettin' bad out here. Damn storm..."

Bobby nodded, briefly taking the phone away from his ear to slip the apron over his head.

"So...you gonna be able to help us out, or should we move down the list and call – "

" – no," Bobby interrupted, tossing the apron over one of the chairs before crossing to the stove and switching it off; covering the pot of chili and moving it further back on the cooktop. "I'm comin'..." he assured the officer on the phone.

And Bobby sure as hell hoped he was wrong about his suspicions of who he would find in the ditch when he arrived with the wrecker.

* * *

Several miles away, Dean drove in silence.

The familiar rumble of the Impala's engine vaguely comforting as the classic Chevy traveled down Old Mill Road while Dean's mind buzzed with possibilities of what had happened to Sam.

The list was long and worrisome.

"You better be okay," Dean warned his brother, glancing at the empty passenger seat and belatedly wishing he had let Sam take the Impala earlier instead of making the kid take one of Bobby's clunkers.

Because if something had happened, at least Sam wouldn't be alone right now; would instead be surrounded by home until Dean could find him.

Dean sighed; his hands anxiously gripping the steering wheel as he drove. "You better be okay," he repeated to an absent Sam; growling the words as he tried to stay pissed at an inconsiderate little brother who was routinely a pain in his ass.

But Dean was unable to shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong.

Because Sam's phone didn't ring busy unless Sam was talking to Dean – or to Bobby – and neither of them had heard from the kid since he had left Singer Salvage over an hour ago.

Yet every time Dean had tried to call his brother, the connection to Sam's phone had failed to go through, repeatedly blocked by an answering busy signal.

Dean shook his head in frustration; trying to ignore the feeling that he was going to find Sam on the side of the road; that the kid had wrecked between town and Bobby's house and was bleeding in a ditch somewhere.

Like surviving one car accident barely two months ago wasn't enough and Sam wanted to try his luck again.

Dean swallowed, suddenly feeling choked by fear and anxiety; a feeling that only intensified when it started raining as he approached town.

Because the truck Sam had taken from Bobby's had been a piece of crap; who knew if the wipers worked...or the headlights...or the brakes, for that matter.

These were certainly not the driving conditions to find out.

Jesus...

Dean scowled at the storm; switching on the Impala's wipers to high speed and leaning slightly forward in the driver's seat to better see through the rain blowing in sheets across the highway.

His concentration was so focused that Dean startled at the sudden, remarkably loud crack of thunder that literally shook the ground and then was followed by a sharp spear of lightning stabbing the huge dark clouds that hung heavily in an equally dark sky.

The rain poured harder; the full clouds having been pierced and shaken and thus spilling forth their moisture like a hysterical woman on a crying jag.

The thunder and lightning came again.

"It's okay, Sammy..." Dean murmured out of habit, as if the kid could hear him across time and space; knowing Sam was no longer three-years old and afraid of storms but also knowing severe weather still tended to make his brother nervous. "It's okay..."

Only Sam was missing...and that was never okay.

But this time it _had _to be; it had to be okay.

Because Dean had already lost John; and he couldn't lose Sam, too.

He just _couldn't_.

Not ever – but certainly not _now_.

Dean sighed – hating how shaky he felt – and reached for his phone tucked in the pocket of his leather jacket; easily dialing Sam's number while still steering the Impala and then glaring at the busy signal that greeted him almost instantly.

"Dammit, Sam! Where the hell are you?" Dean demanded and threw the phone into the passenger floorboard; the device rattling at the mistreatment as it skidded across the mat and then came to rest where two gigantic-sized boots should've been.

But Sam wasn't there.

And he wasn't answering his phone.

Dean clenched his jaw.

The Impala's steering wheel was gripped impossibly tighter.

The Chevy's gas pedal was pushed a little harder.

And several miles passed while the rain continued to pour.

The drops reappeared as soon as the Impala's wipers swished them away; the moisture on the glass causing everything to look blurry through the windshield...including the red and blue flashing lights of the ambulance, fire engine, and patrol cars that suddenly appeared up ahead.

"Oh god..." Dean murmured; his stomach twisting in dread.

Because he knew; _he knew_.

"Sam..." Dean whispered as he stared out the windshield; recognizing the rusted tailgate sticking up in the air and watching in fascinated horror while the truck's back wheels lethargically spun in the storm's wind as the front of the vehicle was buried in the ditch.

Dean glared at the scene. "No," he growled in denial; the word loud and harsh but still unable to mask the hammering of his heart as it slammed in his chest.

Because the closer he drove, the more apparent it became that Dean's sixth sense had been right – that something bad had happened to his brother.

Dean shook his head, still refusing to believe what he was seeing, and stopped the Impala mere inches from the police officer standing in the storm and attempting to direct traffic around the accident scene on the side of the road.

"Sir!" the officer yelled as Dean stepped out of the classic Chevy; squinting as rain pelted him in the face. "Sir!"

But Dean ignored him, easily sidestepping the officer's reach – as well as an oncoming car in the opposite lane – and continuing to jog toward the scene; his clothes saturated in the downpour; his boots pounding on the wet asphalt.

"Sir!" the officer yelled once more and frantically motioned for one of his colleagues to intercept. "Sir! Stop! You can't go down there!"

But Dean couldn't be bothered to give a shit about the officer's orders as he ran toward the ditch where he knew Sam would be.

"Whoa, there..." another officer warned; suddenly appearing in front of Dean and holding up his hand to halt Dean's approach as he busted through a line of onlookers; strangers willing to get drenched in the rain as long as they could gawk at an accident.

Dean scowled at the officer and then blinked in the harsh glare of the red and blue lights continuing to flash on the emergency vehicles surrounding the wrecked truck.

"Slow down, son," the officer continued. "We appreciate your help," he told Dean, his monotone implying he had given this speech many times. "But we've got everything under control. So, if you'll just return to your car – "

" – like hell I will!" Dean sharply interrupted and pushed against the man's restraining hand held in the center of his chest; not wanting to be arrested for assault on an officer...but not opposed to it, either.

Because this man, officer or not, was trying to keep him from Sam – from an _injured_ Sam – and that always justified violence and recklessness in Dean's book.

The officer narrowed his eyes; his gaze passing over Dean as if he was looking for something. "Are you with the media?"

"What?" Dean barked and then shook his head; feeling droplets of rain slide down his face as he did so. "No. That's my brother down there!" he forcefully informed and swept the officer's hand away; not offering any other explanation as he continued to advance toward the scene.

The officer was momentarily stunned by the revelation – because he didn't know anyone had yet contacted the accident victim's next of kin – but then quickly followed behind Dean; leaving crowd control to another officer nearby.

"Let him through!" the officer yelled to the other emergency workers dutifully stepping into Dean's path and trying to prevent him from getting any closer to the wreck; recognizing that Dean was within seconds of throwing a punch from the way his arm was moving back. "He's the kid's brother. Let him through!"

One of the firemen arched an eyebrow at the news. "You are?"

"Yeah," Dean answered gruffly; his gaze going beyond the fireman to the truck in the ditch – his only concern.

"What's his name?" the fireman asked, as if he was somehow testing the validity of Dean's identity as the kid's brother.

Dean cut his eyes at the fireman and snorted – not having time for such bullshit – and then pushed his way closer to the truck, bodily shoving others aside as he descended the steep ditch bank; careful to keep his footing in the slick mud and feeling instantly alarmed that he could smell gasoline in the damp air as he approached.

"Where the hell are those Jaws of Life?" another fireman yelled over his shoulder from where he was crouched by the driver's side door down in the ditch shining his flashlight into the vehicle's cab. "This truck might blow any second. And the cab is starting to fill with water. Move your asses up there!"

The fireman paused in barking his orders as Dean approached.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded; shifting the flashlight to shine on Dean and moving ever-so-slightly to block Dean's view of the truck's driver, almost like he was protective of who was inside.

Sam always had that effect on people.

"He asked you a question," the medic snapped from where he was also crouched by the truck and glared at Dean; angling his body to block Dean's view as well.

Dean returned the glare as he stepped into the knee-high water steadily rising in the ditch; not caring that his boots were instantly waterlogged or that his jeans were even more saturated than before.

Because he only cared about one thing – _Sam_ – and the men currently blocking his access to the kid were going to learn the hard way if they didn't move their asses.

"Who are you?" the fireman repeated; his hard tone matching the medic's expression.

Dean motioned toward the truck as he came closer. "I'm his brother," he replied, daring either man to dispute it.

Neither did; both men only continuing to skeptically stare at Dean.

But the reaction from within the truck was instant.

"D'n..." Sam called in return; the word slurred but the voice clearly panicked and scared as Sam reverted to his I-don't-know-where-I-am-or-what-just-happened-but-I-want-my-brother voice; a tone that always ignited something purely primal within Dean.

And it had that same effect now.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	2. Chapter 2

"D'n..." Sam called again; his voice hoarse, his tone desperate for an answer from the one person who always made things better just by being present. "D'n..."

"I'm here, Sammy..." Dean assured, continuing to wade through the water filling the ditch; finally reaching the wrecked truck and wasting no time in roughly shouldering aside the fireman and the medic as he crouched between them. "I'm right here, kiddo."

"D'n..." Sam said once more; relief flooding that one slurred word when he heard how close his brother was.

Dean smiled softly. "Yeah, Sammy. I'm right here," he confirmed, briefly nodding his thanks to the fireman and the medic for standing guard over his brother...and then glaring at them as he silently dismissed them from continuing to do so.

Because Dean was here now and big brother was on duty.

Dean just needed a better position so he could _see_ Sam and assess the kid's injuries and know exactly what he was dealing with.

"D'n..."

"Give me a minute, Sam," Dean responded patiently as the rain continued to pour from the evening sky. "I'm trying to figure out the best way to get to you."

The fireman blinked, suddenly seeming to put two-and-two together. "Wait. You're Dean?" he clarified and exchanged glances with the medic; both men smiling their own relief when Dean nodded. "Well, it's about damn time the police got in touch with you."

Dean arched an eyebrow at the comment but didn't correct the fireman's assumption that he had been summoned to the scene by law enforcement.

"He's been calling for you since he woke up," the medic added and gestured toward Sam.

Dean nodded; touched – but not surprised – that Sam would call for him when the kid was disoriented and injured.

"How long was he out?" Dean asked, concerned that Sam had apparently been unconscious for a period of time.

The medic shrugged. "Hard to say. But he was unconscious when we arrived on the scene. He woke up maybe ten minutes ago...and hasn't shut up since." He smiled. "I feel like I should know you from the amount of times I've heard your name."

The fireman laughed softly in agreement as he directed the flashlight's beam off of Dean and back into the truck's cab.

Dean snorted at the medic's comment. "Well, here I am..." he declared dryly, readjusting his position beside the truck for better access to his brother.

While the rain continued to pour...and the water in the ditch continued to slowly rise.

"What happened?" Dean asked distractedly about the cause of the wreck; his eyes scanning the truck as he tried to figure out the best way to reach his brother trapped inside.

"Hydroplaned," the fireman answered. "We see this a lot when storms come up suddenly like it did this afternoon."

Dean nodded at the explanation – wondering again about how well the truck's brakes had worked – and tilted his head, trying to see inside the dimly lit cab. "Sammy..." he called, cautiously reaching through the busted glass of the driver's side window.

Because although Dean didn't care if he got cut by the jagged shards still clinging to the door's frame, he would not be responsible for dislodging any that might fall on his brother.

Dean continued his careful reach. "Sammy..."

Sam was awkwardly pinned between the steering wheel and the seat, barely able to move...but he shifted at the sound of Dean's voice; his boots uncoordinatedly sloshing in the water that was filling the truck's floorboard.

"D'n..." Sam called back and immediately reached for his brother; the motion quick and desperate but his breath catching in his throat when pain flared in his shoulder as the seatbelt restricted his movement.

Dean frowned. "Hey. Easy," he soothed, grabbing his brother's outstretched hand; his thumb smearing the blood streaked over Sam's knuckles. "It's okay. I'm right here. You're okay."

...though Dean could tell from just a cursory visual once-over that his brother was far from okay.

Only the fireman's thin flashlight beam illuminated the cab of the truck, but it was enough to see that blood was everywhere. It was absolutely _everywhere_, and the piece of crap truck was beyond salvage; its front smashed in from the force of impact when the truck had left the rain-slick road and had slammed into the ditch; its driver's side door caved in and clearly jammed.

...which was why the fireman was calling for the Jaws of Life to pry Sam out.

Dean swallowed at the obvious seriousness of their situation. "It's okay," he repeated. "It's okay."

Because maybe if he said it enough times, it would be true.

But all Dean could see was his little brother trapped in a vehicle that was quickly filling with water and had to be leaking gasoline judging from the unmistakable stench that filled the air...and from the greasy, almost iridescent film that was coating the water's surface.

Dean glanced at the fireman still crouched beside him in the ditch.

The fireman nodded in return, sharing Dean's sense of urgency. "Hey! Hurry the hell up!" he yelled at his men unloading the Jaws of Life from the fire engine and hooking it to the generator.

Dean sighed, consciously rearranging his expression and then redirecting his attention to his brother. "It's okay, Sammy. We're gonna get you outta here in just a minute."

Sam weakly squeezed Dean's hand in response; clearly relieved to not only see his brother but to have physical contact with him as well. "Y'came," he needlessly stated; blinking like he wasn't quite sure where he was or what had happened...but he was glad Dean was finally there.

Dean nodded, concerned by how dilated Sam's pupils were and how detached his brother seemed. "You were late," he pointed out good-naturedly and then quirked a half-hearted smile, trying to lighten the mood. "And dinner was getting cold."

Sam twitched an answering smile; knowing how important mealtime was to his brother...and how grumpy Bobby got when his cooking went to waste. "Bobby's gonna be m-mad."

And he wasn't just referring to the spoiled dinner.

Even in his disoriented haze, Sam knew the truck he had been driving was completely totaled.

"Nah," Dean scoffed and shook his head; briefly wiping the rain from his face as his thumb continued to gently rub back and forth over Sam's bloody knuckles in a subconsciously comforting gesture. "Don't worry about it. You let me handle Bobby, okay?"

Even though Dean knew Bobby wouldn't give a shit about his chili or the truck as long as Sam was okay.

And if Sam was thinking straight, he would know that, too.

Dean carefully nudged his brother. "Hey. You hear me?"

Sam held Dean's gaze and nodded slightly, wincing as doing so ignited fresh throbbing behind his eyes; remembering when Dean used to make the same promise about dealing with John.

_You let me handle Dad, okay? _

And Dean always did.

Dean always handled everything.

Sam smiled faintly and then felt his eyes begin to dip closed; confident his brother would handle this current situation, too...whatever this current situation was.

Sam couldn't remember.

But he knew he was cold and wet and sore.

Moving made his body hurt...and thinking made his head hurt.

And the constant rain somehow made everything worse.

Sam sighed, tempted to sink back into the darkness where everything was quiet and painless.

"Sam..." Dean called, recognizing the signs of an increasingly drowsy little brother and determined to keep the kid awake. "Talk to me."

Sam grunted, clearly not in a talking mood.

Dean didn't care. "Talk to me, Sam."

Sam wrinkled his nose as he swallowed. "M'head hurts."

Dean nodded. "I know it does," he soothed. "But you're gonna be okay," he assured, even as he visually tracked the blood freely flowing from Sam's hairline.

The blood streaked across Sam's forehead and matted his bangs – making the kid's hair wet and darker than usual – and then coated the right side of Sam's face and neck and even his shoulder; saturating and staining his shirt.

Sam's arms and hands were streaked with blood from various cuts – most likely caused by the busted glass – and the skin over his left cheekbone was split; the facial injury swollen and bruised and oozing blood.

The kid was a mess.

Dean sighed; because Sam's face had just recently completely healed from the injuries he had sustained in the car accident two months ago.

And now this...

Sam blinked and then squinted; the combination of his headache and dilated pupils causing everything to look blurry.

Dean watched his brother; frowning at how obviously hard Sam must have smacked his head on the steering wheel upon impact...which would explain why Sam looked so detached and why there was so much blood.

But even though head wounds always bled like a bitch – often making injuries look worse than they actually were – and concussions always sucked, both could be easily dealt with back at Bobby's.

Dean just needed to get Sam home, and then he and Bobby would handle the rest.

Dean nodded in agreement with himself and tilted his head, angling for a better view of his brother inside the truck's cab; the kid suspended by the seatbelt, hovering over the steering wheel.

It looked uncomfortable as hell.

Dean sighed. "Sam. What else hurts?"

Sam didn't answer.

The rain continued to fall.

The water in the ditch continued to rise.

"Hey!" the fireman suddenly yelled from where he was still crouched beside Dean, staring up the ditch bank and motioning at whoever he saw peering down at them. "Let's go! Move!"

Dean heard somebody respond to the fireman's order but didn't bother to look up; instead keeping his focus on his brother. "Sam. Tell me. What else?"

Sam swallowed and shifted; seeming to take an internal inventory of his injuries. "Just m'head," he answered quietly.

Dean nodded, though he was sure other parts of his brother hurt, too; only the kid's head was the most demanding right now. "Does your chest hurt?"

"No," Sam responded and then scrunched his face. "Only when I breathe."

Dean huffed a humorless laugh at the ambiguous answer and swiped the rain from his face, wishing the storm would stop.

They had enough problems without the added threat of a flooding ditch steadily filling the truck's cab.

Dean swallowed, refusing to dwell on that fact and choosing instead to do what he did best – take care of his brother. "Sammy. Do your ribs feel cracked or broken?"

"I've already asked him that," the medic informed, staring at Dean like he expected praise for having already done so.

Dean snorted. "Well, good for you..." he returned dryly, not caring for the man's smug tone.

The medic narrowed his eyes but didn't respond as he shifted from where he was crouched beside the truck.

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he ignored the medic and refocused on his brother. "Sam..."

"No," Sam replied about whether his ribs were broken or cracked.

"You sure?" Dean double-checked.

Sam nodded but then coughed, wincing as he did so. "Just sore."

"Good," Dean praised; not happy that his brother's chest was sore but hoping Sam was just bruised from the strain of the seatbelt and the impact of his ribcage against the steering wheel. "What else?"

"I don't know," Sam answered distractedly and then grunted as he shifted on the seat; clearly not interested in completing triage but wanting something else. "Can we go home?"

Dean quirked a smile at the question, inexplicably amused and touched by Sam's simple request; his brother injured and trapped in a wrecked vehicle but just wanting what all kids wanted when they were hurt – _home_.

Sam's boots sloshed noisily in the flooding floorboard as he weakly squeezed Dean's hand. "Can we?" he pressed, seeming to become more agitated; shifting again on the seat and whimpering as doing so caused pain to flare throughout his body. "Dean. Can we?"

"Absolutely," Dean responded without hesitation, briefly squeezing Sam's hand in return to seal the promise and to soothe his brother. "We just gotta get your gigantic ass out of this truck, and then we're going home."

"Well, after the hospital..." the medic added as he remained crouched beside Dean and listened to the brothers' conversation.

The fireman rolled his eyes at the medic's comment; squinting as the rain continued to pelt his face as he crouched on Dean's opposite side. "Here we go..." he muttered under his breath.

Because he had been a fireman for over 20 years and had already pegged Dean as the type of guy who didn't go to hospitals; the type who was probably used to just patching up himself – and his brother – with a first aid kit on an exit ramp or at a rest stop before hitting the road again.

But the medic was new to the job...and was about to find out what years of experience had already taught most veteran emergency workers.

The fireman snorted softly and then glanced back up the ditch bank; glaring at his men as they tried in vain to crank the generator connected to the Jaws of Life.

"He _is_ going to the hospital," the medic continued, gesturing toward Sam; his tone implying it wasn't a choice; that the issue wasn't up for discussion.

Dean cut his eyes at the man beside him and shook his head. "No hospital," he returned – his tone also implying the issue wasn't up for discussion – and then held the medic's gaze to make his point.

_No hospital. _

Because as far as Dean could tell, Sam did not have any broken bones – which meant no hospital visit.

Especially now; especially since the last time they had been in a hospital, Dean had almost died...and John _had_ died.

Dean could still see him.

Their dad – the untouchable John Winchester – had been nothing but just another lifeless body lying motionless on that gurney as monitors had blared around him, announcing his abrupt departure.

Dean swallowed, resisting the urge to shudder at the memory; to allow that weakness to surface.

Because no matter how much it sucked, John was gone.

And Dean had other things to focus on now – like _Sam_.

Dean blinked, glancing at his brother as the kid still held his hand like the lifeline it was and then glanced at the medic. "No hospital," he repeated.

Unless Sam's condition drastically deteriorated in the time it took them to cut the kid from the truck.

Otherwise, Dean could handle Sam's injuries and take care of his brother better than strangers.

He always had.

And that wasn't changing tonight.

The medic narrowed his eyes. "Your brother's injuries need to be properly assessed and treated."

"And they will be," Dean assured coolly.

Because he had been assessing and treating Sam's injuries for years, and he could certainly handle a knock to the head, a mild concussion, a bruised chest, and a few scrapes.

They had suffered worse on hunts gone bad.

Sam would be fine.

Dean just needed to get the kid dry and safe back at Bobby's.

The medic stared at Dean; his disapproval of Dean's plan clearly seen in his expression. "Your brother needs a hospital," he insisted.

Dean chuckled dryly; always amused by how much other people failed to understand how hunters operated; how hunters took care of their own, not requiring – and not _wanting_ – anyone else's help.

And that was especially true of Dean; because Sam was _his..._and he would take care of the kid by himself.

"He'll be fine," Dean growled – silently daring the medic to contradict him again – and then glanced back at his brother. "Won't ya, Sammy?"

Sam swallowed; not seeming to hear Dean's question or to even know what his brother and the medic had been discussing as he abruptly closed his eyes.

Dean frowned, feeling his stomach clench. "Whoa. Hey. Sammy. Look at me..."

Because there would be no slipping away, not on Dean's watch.

"Sam..." Dean called again, his tone sharper and more insistent when Sam didn't obey; his brother's eyes still closed. "Look at me..." he repeated and then motioned to the fireman still crouched beside him to hand over his flashlight.

The fireman arched an eyebrow but did as he was silently instructed.

"Sam..." Dean called once more, accepting the flashlight and shining it directly in Sam's face; waving it back and forth. "Sammy..."

The medic frowned. "Don't..." he began – disapproving of Dean's tactic for waking his brother – and reached to take the flashlight from Dean's grasp...but then thought better of it as Dean cut his eyes in his direction.

The medic swallowed nervously.

The fireman sighed, not interested in refereeing another proverbial pissing match between an obviously protective big brother and a well-meaning medic. "It's getting a little crowded down here," he commented and stared meaningfully at man on the opposite side of Dean.

The medic snorted; hesitating long enough to scowl his displeasure at being politely ordered to leave but then nodded, receiving the message. "Yeah," he agreed bitterly and stood; carefully wading back to the ditch bank. "I think I'll go make sure the stretcher's ready to transport the patient to the hospital..."

The fireman rolled his eyes at the indirect jab towards Dean in reference to their earlier argument about whether or not Sam was going to the hospital after he was freed from the truck.

"Yeah, you do that," the fireman dryly encouraged and then shook his head in annoyance; watching the medic go and then glancing back at Dean. "Sorry about that. He's just doing his job."

"So am I," Dean replied smoothly, continuing to focus on his brother. "Sammy..."

Sam remained motionless.

The rain poured.

Dean sighed harshly. "Dammit, Sam..." he muttered, his heart beating faster each second his brother's eyes remained closed.

"He's probably just passed out again," the fireman soothed. "Happens a lot with head injuries..."

Dean waved the flashlight back and forth across his brother's battered face. "_Sam..._"

A few seconds passed before Sam lethargically opened his eyes and blinked; scrunching his face in reaction to the flashlight and grunting in pain.

Dean immediately shifted the light's beam to shine on the busted dash of the truck; not wanting to cause Sam further distress but wanting the kid to remain awake.

"Stay with me," Dean told his brother, perhaps never meaning those three words more than he did right now. "You hear me? _Stay with me_."

Because Dean couldn't lose Sam; couldn't end up alone without his little brother.

He _couldn't_.

Sam had always been everything to Dean...and was even more so now that John was gone.

Dean squeezed his brother's hand when Sam didn't respond. "Sammy..."

Sam swallowed and then coughed. "'Kay," he agreed about staying awake and then swallowed again before twitching his hand – the one Dean wasn't still holding – toward the passenger floorboard. "The book..."

Dean shook his head, not even bothering to look at what Sam was trying to point to. "Don't worry about that now. It doesn't matter, okay?"

Because the book Sam had gone to get from the library was the least of Dean's concerns; and if it had ended up in the floorboard during the wreck, it was destroyed now anyway.

Water and paper didn't mix well.

Sam sighed, blinking drowsily at Dean. "I...I tried..." he told his brother, once again motioning toward the passenger floorboard. "I tried to call you."

This time Dean followed his brother's vague direction, just barely catching a glimpse of Sam's phone in the flooded passenger floorboard; its screen busted but still illuminated and clearly glowing in the water; his name in bold letters on the cracked caller display declaring "call connected".

Only the call hadn't connected.

Or if it had, it had only connected on Sam's end of the line because Dean's phone had never rung that afternoon while he had worriedly paced at Bobby's house.

Unless their lines had been crossed – Dean's phone ringing busy just as Sam's had done because they had been trying to call each other at the same time.

And then Sam had wrecked and his phone had been destroyed, leaving the line open and thus constantly ringing busy when Dean had tried to call him.

That would be just their luck.

Dean sighed; shaking his head but finally understanding why Sam's phone had rang busy for the past half hour and wishing he had come to search for the kid sooner.

But hindsight was 20/20...and was always an unforgiving, maddening bitch.

"I tried..." Sam said again and then inhaled a shaky breath from where he was awkwardly leaning against the steering wheel; staring at his brother with dilated pupils and looking confused. "Dean..."

"I know, Sammy," Dean soothed, having no doubt that his brother had tried to call him. "We'll talk about it later."

Sam swallowed and coughed in response; a strangled, hoarse moan escaping as doing so jarred his sore chest and caused a fresh wave of pain to throb behind his eyes.

"Easy," Dean murmured to his brother and then cut his eyes at the fireman at the sudden yell the man hurled up the ditch bank.

"What the hell is taking so long up there?" the fireman demanded; clearly pissed at the continued delay.

Dean glared over his shoulder, wondering the same thing.

Because although the rain had finally stopped falling, the water was still filling the truck's cab and the smell of gasoline still lingered in the air.

"We can't get the generator started!" one of the firemen called back; sounding frustrated and equally pissed as he peered down in the ditch.

"Shit..." the fireman hissed and abruptly stood; the water rippling as he did so. "Seems like I gotta do every fucking thing..." he muttered and then glanced over his shoulder at Dean. "You got him?" he asked, gesturing toward Sam still trapped in the truck.

Dean snorted at the ridiculousness of the man's question. "Yeah," he assured. "I got him."

The fireman nodded at the expected answer and then stomped up the muddy ditch bank; fully prepared to start the damn generator himself and then rip his guys a new one.

Because a truck with a kid trapped inside wasn't blowing up on his watch...and the kid wasn't going to drown in the truck, either.

But they were running out of time to prevent both.

What if the generator that powered the Jaws of Life really wouldn't crank?

Then what?

The fireman sighed and shook his head at the possibility. "Just hang on, kid..." he whispered as he cleared the edge of the ditch and blinked at the harsh glare of the flashing lights on the emergency vehicles still gathered around.

He blinked again, his focus shifting to his men as he crossed to the fire engine; pausing when he recognized a familiar face coming toward him from the crowd of onlookers still hovering beside the road.

"Well, I'll be damned..." the fireman commented at the sight, smiling briefly at the relief that flooded him – because their luck had just changed for the better.

And it was about damn time.

"Hey!" the fireman yelled and waved his arms, instantly attracting the man's attention amid the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles. "You got your generator on that tow truck?"

Bobby nodded as he came to stand in front of the fireman; his gaze flickering to the ditch where he knew his boys were.

Because he had known since he had first received the call from the officer that it was Sam he would find in the ditch.

And then when he had arrived on the scene and had seen the Impala parked haphazardly in the middle of the road...

Bobby swallowed, easily imagining Dean's panic when the big brother had seen the truck in the ditch, because the same feeling had swelled in Bobby's chest only moments before when he had arrived and had seen the wreck as well.

Bobby sighed. "How bad?"

The fireman shrugged. "I've seen worse," he commented. "But it's still pretty bad."

Bobby nodded, having suspected as much from what he could see. "Is the kid okay?"

The fireman frowned, wondering why the tow truck driver seemed especially interested in this accident. "He's hanging in there," he answered about the kid trapped inside the truck. "His brother's with him."

"Of course he is," Bobby snapped, having never expected Dean to be anywhere else besides with Sam.

There was a beat of chaotic silence.

Bobby glanced at the fire engine and the firemen huddled around the generator. "Jaws of Life?" he asked, even as he stared at the device; his stomach twisting at what their use implied about the wrecked truck.

The fireman nodded. "Yeah. We're not getting that kid out of that truck without 'em. But we might have a problem with our generator."

The fireman paused, staring at Bobby.

Because this tow truck driver had worked a lot of accident scenes in the past and the firemen had borrowed his generator before.

So maybe...

"Do you have yours on the tow truck?" the fireman asked again about the generator; his tone guardedly hopeful.

Bobby snorted at the obvious answer to that question, already turning to cross back to his truck. "I never leave home without it."

* * *

_**TBC**_


	3. Chapter 3

Dean sighed as he watched the fireman disappear over the top edge of the ditch bank; the back of the man's heavy coat – the reflective yellow fabric faded from wear and stained with soot – vanishing in the darkness above.

The faint flashing glow of the emergency vehicles still surrounding the accident scene filtered down to reflect off the rising water in the ditch along with the fragments of shattered glass scattered in the damp grass.

Dean's gaze briefly flickered to the eerily black sky above; hoping the clouds overhead had nothing more on their agenda for the remainder of the night than hiding the moon and stars.

Because the last thing they needed was for the rain to begin again.

Dean glared – daring the storm to return – and then refocused on his brother as he heard the kid's weak movements sloshing the water still filling the truck.

"Sammy..." Dean called, ducking his head and shining the flashlight into the truck's cab as he continued to crouch beside the driver's side door and hold the kid's blood-streaked hand through the busted window. "Sam..."

Sam didn't respond, but he squinted in the light and then blinked drowsily as he stared at Dean from where he remained pinned between the seat and the steering wheel; most of his body hidden beneath the dark water that now reached just above his waist.

Dean swallowed, his stomach twisting with the same panic he saw reflected in Sam's eyes.

Because their situation was worsening by the second.

The water in the ditch was rising fast...and they were quickly running out of time.

"Dean..." Sam whispered, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and fear; dazed by lingering confusion about the wreck and overwhelmed with pain caused by his injuries...but totally trusting his brother to fix this.

_All_ of this.

Because that's what Dean always did.

Dean always fixed everything.

No mattered how bad it looked.

Dean could fix it.

And Sam believed that even now.

Sam sighed, smiling weakly at the thought – comforted by that nostalgic truth – and shivered as the cold dampness of the water began to take its toll; feeling his eyes dip closed as sleep once again beckoned, promising sweet release from the constant pressure in his chest and throbbing across his forehead.

Dean frowned as he watched his brother, simultaneously squeezing Sam's hand while shining the flashlight in the kid's face as he had done earlier. "No, Sam. Stay with me, remember?"

There was a pause.

Sam's eyes stayed shut.

Dean glared, refusing to accept that. "Sam..." he called warningly.

Because although he knew his brother was tired and in pain, he also knew the kid could _not_ go to sleep – not yet.

"Sam..." Dean repeated, his tone sharper than before. "Look at me. _Now._"

Sam sighed but blinked open his eyes, still squinting against the pain in his head and grunting his displeasure at being made to stay awake. "You're mean."

Dean chuckled at the grumpy, vaguely whiney complaint; reminded of a cranky toddler version of his brother. "Yeah, well...deal with it, bitch. Your ass is staying awake until I say you can go to sleep. You hear me?"

Sam hummed a drowsy response, his fingers twitching in Dean's grasp. "If I could move my other arm, I'd flip you off."

Dean chuckled once more at the ornery kid trying to maintain a brave front. "Nice," he remarked dryly, playing along. "Who taught you to behave like that?"

Sam quirked a tired smile. "M'brother."

Dean nodded proudly even as he frowned at Sam's slurred words. "Damn right."

Sam snorted a soft laugh and then coughed, scrunching his face against a wave of pain that washed over him.

"Easy," Dean soothed, carefully rubbing his thumb across Sam's bloody knuckles.

Sam swallowed and nodded, shivering as the water continued to rise. "S'cold."

"I know," Dean agreed, because he was cold as well...and he hadn't been in the water as long as his brother. "Just hang on, Sammy. Not much longer..." he promised about getting the kid out of the wrecked truck.

Though Dean was beginning to doubt that timeframe since the fireman had been gone for several minutes and had not yet called down the ditch bank with a revised plan of how they were going to pry open the crushed truck without the Jaws of Life.

Because if the generator wouldn't crank, then the Jaws of Life wouldn't work – and they would be screwed in a whole new way.

Not to mention the water still filling the cab of the truck – now reaching Sam's chest – and the threatening smell of gasoline still hanging thick in the damp air.

...which meant Dean's mind was beginning to buzz with his own solutions.

Because his kid brother was _not_ going to die trapped in this truck at the bottom of a flooding ditch.

Dean would never allow that to happen.

No fucking way.

Sam was his; was all he had left.

And Dean always took care of what belonged to him.

That wasn't changing tonight.

Dean nodded his determination and sighed, shifting his position beside the truck – the muscles in his legs burning and aching from crouching for so long – and readjusted his hold on the flashlight.

"Sam..." Dean called, checking on his quiet brother. "You still with me?"

"Mmhmm," Sam responded drowsily, staring at Dean hovering on the outside of the truck; his brother remaining in the water-filled ditch without complaint while patiently holding his hand so he wouldn't be alone.

...which conveyed more than Dean would ever directly say to him.

Not that words were ever needed between them.

Their actions spoke louder.

Sam twitched a smile.

Dean arched an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothin'..." Sam replied softly, wincing as he tried to shift behind the steering wheel pressing against his chest. "I'm just glad you're here."

Five simple words that squeezed Dean's heart.

Though the big brother could think of nowhere else he would be, especially when Sam was hurt.

Dean returned the smile and nodded as Sam continued to stare at him from inside the truck's cab; touched more than he would admit by his brother's comment...especially since there had been so much distance between them since John had died.

But that was over.

Life was too short – _too fucking short_ – to harbor hurts and keep secrets.

Tonight's accident had been a stark reminder of that.

And things were going to be different.

After all, with John gone, all they had was each other.

And Bobby...

Dean nodded at the reminder of the older hunter – knowing Bobby probably wondered where the hell they were – and glanced over his shoulder; tilting his head at what sounded like Bobby's voice up on the ditch bank.

Dean listened...and then snorted. "Yeah, right..." he dismissed with a roll of his eyes and refocused on his brother, frowning at the twisted expression on Sam's face. "Hey. What's wrong?

"M'head..."

"What about it?"

"_Hurts_."

Dean nodded, wincing in sympathy as his gaze flickered to Sam's blood-matted hair and red-stained skin. "I bet it does," he agreed, his frown deepening as he stared at the wound still oozing sluggishly. "Smacking your forehead on a steering wheel will do that."

"No," Sam quietly disputed, once again shifting on the seat. "Well, yes. But...no."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Okay..." he allowed, concerned that Sam's condition was deteriorating if his brother was slipping back into the confused delirium of earlier. "Care to elaborate?"

Sam sighed, clearly frustrated by his scattered thoughts made worse by fatigue. "It hurt before."

Dean narrowed his eyes, not liking the sound of that. "Before?" he repeated. "Before when? Before you left Bobby's?"

Though Dean doubted that was what Sam was talking about.

Because Dean knew his brother...and Sam had seemed fine before he had left Bobby's house; had not mentioned a headache and had not acted like he was hiding one, either.

Dean would've known.

But then again, sometimes Sam's migraines came out of nowhere.

And so did the kid's visions.

Both equally crippling when they struck.

Dean swallowed at the thought. "Sam..." he prompted, dread crawling up his spine at the possibility of what had truly caused the truck to run off the road and end up in the ditch.

Sam blinked sleepily.

"Hey..." Dean called, squeezing his brother's hand and lightly shaking the kid's arm to rouse him.

It worked.

Sam scowled and glared at Dean.

Dean ignored him, needing to know the rest of the explanation Sam had begun. "Listen...when did your head hurt? Before when? Before the wreck?"

Sam hummed his agreement. "I tried to call you..."

Dean blinked at the news. "You tried to call me before the wreck?"

Sam nodded, briefly closing his eyes against the pain that throbbed across his forehead and down his temples.

Dean frowned as his suspicions about the true cause of the accident were quickly being confirmed. "Sam. What happened?"

Because while he had asked the fireman and medic when he had first arrived in the ditch, Dean hadn't asked Sam...until now.

And it seemed his brother had a much different explanation than the one Dean had previously been given.

Hydroplaning may have played a role in the wreck, but it didn't seem to be the only cause...or even the primary cause.

Sam had just reported that his head had hurt _before_ the wreck...and apparently had hurt so badly that the kid had felt the need to call Dean...which usually meant...

Dean swallowed. "Sammy. Was it a vision?" he asked, knowing it was.

The kid could barely stay on his feet when one hit, much less drive.

And if a vision came out of nowhere – like they usually did – then no wonder Sam ended up in a ditch...and his open phone landed in the passenger floorboard beyond his reach to call for help once the vision had passed.

Dean sighed, silently vowing to never let his brother drive again...and to never let the kid out of his sight, either.

Because bad shit always happened whenever they were separated.

"Sammy..."

"Yes," Sam finally confirmed about having a vision and then widened his eyes, looking instantly alarmed. "Oh god..."

Dean frowned at his brother's expression and tone. "What?"

"I don't remember it." Sam paused as the reality of that fact struck him. "Oh god...Dean..._I don't remember it_."

"It's okay," Dean soothed and squeezed his brother's hand. "Hey. Calm down," he ordered more forcefully as Sam began to shift on the seat; not wanting the kid to injure himself further. "We'll figure it out, okay? One thing at a time..."

"No!" Sam snapped, shaking his head even though doing so increased the throbbing behind his eyes. "What if..." He swallowed against the urge to throw up. "What if..."

"Sam. _Stop_," Dean barked, lowering his head to more directly glare at his brother through the truck's busted window. "I mean it. Chill the fuck out before you hurt yourself."

Sam blinked at him.

"Sammy..."

"What if somebody dies because I can't remember?" Sam asked, tears welling in his eyes at the thought.

Dean shook his head. "Nobody's gonna die," he assured, even though he had no clue if they would or wouldn't...and didn't care.

Sam was his first priority.

Everyone else – including whoever starred in Sam's vision – was second.

Sam inhaled shakily. "Dean..."

"It's okay. We'll figure it out," Dean promised, rubbing his thumb over Sam's knuckles in an instinctively soothing gesture. "Just calm down for now. You hear me? Just calm down. We'll figure it out later..."

And Dean intended to do just that when Sam was safe back at Bobby's; when the kid wasn't trapped in a wrecked truck; when his brother wasn't freezing from the rising water, bleeding from a fresh head wound, and feeling the effects of a resulting concussion.

After Sam was warm and settled...after the kid was patched up and medicated...after his brother was hydrated and fed..._then_ they would worry about whatever vision Sam had experienced.

But not now.

Dean had other priorities now.

Like getting Sam out of this fucking truck...

Dean sighed harshly and glanced over his shoulder as yelling voices drifted down the ditch bank.

"What the hell..." Dean muttered, narrowing his eyes in annoyance as the voices became louder; the firemen clearly arguing about how to rescue Sam from the wrecked truck since the Jaws of Life were no longer an option.

...which meant the generator must have indeed been broken.

Shit.

Dean sighed again.

The argument continued.

"Jesus..." Dean swore, his patience vanishing. "Just _decide..._" he demanded quietly, glaring up the ditch bank. "_And hurry the fuck up..._"

"Dean. I wanna get out," Sam suddenly announced, his tone alarmed.

"I know," Dean replied distractedly, still focused on the ditch bank.

"_Now..._" Sam insisted, seeming to become more agitated. "I wanna get out _now."_

"Sam..."

"Dean..." Sam called in return, the name a desperate plea as he shifted on the seat; unable to stifle a moan when the slight movement grinded the steering wheel against his sternum.

"Sammy. Easy…" Dean soothed, finally turning his attention back to his brother and feeling his heart stutter to a momentary stop when he realized _why_ Sam was so anxious – because the water in the truck was approaching the kid's neck.

Oh god...

Sam blinked at him, wide-eyed and panicked. "Dean..."

"It's okay," Dean assured automatically, even as his own panic threatened to choke him.

Because if they didn't move _right fucking now_, Sam would drown in only a few minutes.

"It's okay," Dean said once more, verbally stalling as his mind raced to figure out what the hell he was going to do.

"No," Sam replied to his brother's usual placation – because this was clearly _not_ okay. "I wanna get out."

"Sam..."

"Out."

Dean swallowed against the panic that continued to rise in his throat; his body suddenly humming with a rush of adrenaline at the renewed urgency of their situation.

"_Out_," Sam repeated, his voice hoarse and breathy; his movements weak and uncoordinated as he pushed against the steering wheel that pinned him to the seat and trapped him inside the cab. "Dean..._please_ get me out!"

"I'm working on it, Sam..." Dean promised, pushing back from the truck to better assess the situation.

"Out. Out. Out. Out. _Out._"

Dean frowned, recognizing the signs of a little brother on the brink of a full-blown panic attack. "Sam. Stop. Relax..." he urged, as if doing so was even possible at this point. "Deep breaths..."

Sam wheezed instead – his breaths ragged and noisy – and felt his heart slam in his chest as his head pounded, his chest ached, and his entire body shook from trauma and exhaustion and panic.

"Dean..."

Sam's unguarded, whimpered cry of his name freshly ignited Dean's big brother instincts, causing him to simultaneously want to fix what was wrong and to kick the asses of the firemen who had left him and his brother in such a lurch.

"Dean..."

"I hear ya, Sammy..." Dean responded. "Just hang on..."

Though Dean knew that request would soon be impossible to fulfill.

Because it was hard to hang on – it was hard to _wait_ – when you were _fucking drowning_.

Jesus...

Dean exhaled slowly and deliberately – determined to keep his shit together – and briefly redirected the flashlight's beam as his eyes scanned the frame of the truck while he frantically tried to think of some other way to free Sam from the wreckage besides removing the door.

But there was nothing.

Nothing Dean could do.

Sam was trapped.

And Dean was inwardly freaking out.

Inside the cab, Sam was suddenly quiet and motionless; his inhalations shallow as he lifted his chin above the water's reach and tried to breathe against the restriction of the seatbelt tight across his chest; the nylon strap having become tighter as he had struggled against it.

"D'n..." Sam weakly called, knowing his brother was still there because Dean was still holding his hand.

But Dean had changed positions and was no longer looking at him.

And Sam _needed_ to see his brother.

"D'n..."

Dean instantly reappeared; the busted window of the driver's side door framing his face as he ducked back down to peer inside the truck's cab.

"D'n..." Sam sighed with relief.

"It's okay, Sammy..." Dean told his brother and then glanced over his shoulder. "Hey!" he yelled up the ditch bank, pissed and panicked. "We need some fucking help down here!"

The response was immediate...although unexpected.

"Dean..."

Dean blinked at the familiar voice. "Bobby?" he called in return, frowning in confusion as he said the name.

Because what the hell was Bobby doing here?

"Bobby..." Dean called again and waited for confirmation, even though he knew he had heard the older hunter's voice.

No one responded.

But the unmistakably deafening, chugging rumble of a generator's engine suddenly erupted into the night.

And it was one of the sweetest sounds Dean had ever heard.

In the next instant, Bobby appeared at the top of the ditch bank. "I'm here," he told Dean, already easing down the mud-slick slope. "Just hang on. We're coming."

And they were – Bobby leading the way as at least half a dozen firemen followed, hauling the Jaws of Life with them; its long cord snaking down from where it attached to the generator still on the ditch bank...presumably _Bobby's_ generator.

Dean sighed harshly with relief, smiling briefly – _so incredibly thankful_ to see Bobby Singer headed in his and Sam's direction – and then turned back to check on his brother.

"Sam..." Dean called, feeling his heart beat faster at seeing the water now lapping over Sam's chin. "Hang on, man. Bobby's here. Help's coming..."

Sam didn't seem to care.

Dean frowned, watching as his brother strained to lift his head beyond the water's reach. "Sam..."

Sam coughed as water slipped into his mouth. "Oh, god..." He coughed again. "D'n..."

Dean nodded, squeezing his brother's hand. "It's okay. I'm _right here_, Sammy. Just hang on..."

Sam didn't respond but stared back at him; his grip around Dean's fingers not as strong as it was before; his hand remaining in Dean's grasp only because Dean held onto him.

Dean shook his head at the implications as he watched Sam blink drowsily; his brother's eyes staying closed longer than usual before they opened again and squinted at Dean.

"Don't you _dare_ pass out," Dean warned sharply, fear making him sound pissed.

Because if Sam lost consciousness now, he would definitely drown.

"You hear me, Sammy?" Dean asked, squeezing his brother's hand – _hard_. "Fight it. Stay with me..."

Sam coughed and wheezed but rapidly blinked, obviously trying to fend off the approaching darkness.

"Good," Dean praised, knowing Sam was indeed doing his damnedest to hang on...if only because Dean had asked him to.

Behind them, Bobby and the firemen continued down the ditch bank.

Dean didn't turn to look, focusing only on the one thing that mattered to him – _Sam._

"You're doing good, Sammy," Dean continued to praise his fading little brother. "Just stay with me..." he reminded, squeezing Sam's hand once more.

* * *

**_TBC_**


	4. Chapter 4

The lights of the emergency vehicles crowded around the accident scene continued to flash in the darkness like red and blue strobe lights, disorienting but strangely exciting to those onlookers crawling by in their cars.

Radios were turned down and ongoing conversations were put on hold as both drivers and passengers speculated about what had happened on the side of the road to cause such a commotion. Everyone craning their necks to catch a glimpse of whatever was going on below in the ditch.

Tires hissed on the rain-slick asphalt as police officers yelled at the nosy civilians, glaring their annoyance and motioning for the drivers to _drive_ and stop gawking.

"Jesus..." one of the officers swore, shaking his head as he glanced at his brother in arms while they both stood in the middle of the road directing traffic around the police cars and the fire truck and the ambulance. "It's like they've never seen a fucking accident."

The other officer nodded in agreement, forcefully gesturing to one particular asshole who couldn't seem to figure out that he had to _go around_. "It's always the same, man..."

The first officer snorted his disgust. "I guess," he responded dryly and then directed his attention to the black muscle car that was still parked haphazardly in the middle of the road, further making their job a pain in the ass.

The other officer squinted against the oncoming headlights – made brighter by reflecting off the wet pavement – and followed his buddy's gaze.

"Should we move it?"

The other officer arched an eyebrow at the question and shrugged. "Maybe. But how?"

The first officer smiled knowingly, having already given the car a once-over before mentioning this idea. "Keys are still in the ignition."

The other officer let out a low whistle and shook his head in disbelief. Because if he had a car like that, he sure as hell wouldn't leave her parked in the middle of the street with the doors unlocked and the keys inside.

But then again, the guy who had been driving the classic Chevy – an Impala, the officer was pretty sure, though he couldn't place the year – had other things on his mind when he had first arrived at the scene, more important things than even this black beauty...like a kid brother who was in the wreck down in the ditch behind them.

The officer had heard the guy announce that several times as he had frantically, _aggressively_ pushed through the crowd of emergency workers who had been trying to stop him from reaching his brother...and had failed.

"So, what d'ya say?" the first officer pressed, glancing at his buddy as he directed another car around the parked Chevy. "We move it?"

The other officer shook his head. "I don't know, Frank. Did you see the guy who got out of that thing? I don't think he'd like us messing with his car."

Frank pulled a face. "Please," he dismissed, even though he _had_ seen the driver of the muscle car and agreed that the guy didn't look like anyone to fuck with. "What's he going to do, Mike? Arrest us?"

Mike rolled his eyes, gesturing to another driver to go around the accident scene. "Cute," he commented flatly and then shook his head again. "But I'm serious, man. The guy is the kid's brother."

"So?" Frank challenged as Mike motioned vaguely over his shoulder to the wrecked truck in the ditch as if Frank didn't know which kid Mike was talking about.

"So I think the guy has enough shit to worry about tonight without us taking his car."

"We're not _taking_ it," Frank corrected, irritated by Mike's conscience. "I'm not suggesting we take the damn thing on a joyride – though how fucking sweet would that be, huh?"

He and Mike smiled and nodded appreciatively at the thought of revving the engine of the classic muscle car.

"I'm just saying we move it so we have one less vehicle to direct dumbasses around," Frank continued reasonably.

And it made sense.

Mike couldn't argue against that logic.

But still...it somehow felt wrong.

Mike sighed. "I don't know, man," he replied and hoped that he could continue to stall his buddy from acting on this plan until the firemen rescued the kid in the truck.

Because as soon as that happened, Mike knew the Impala's driver would be headed back to his classic Chevy, undoubtedly with his kid brother in tow since Mike had heard the medics bitching earlier about the guy refusing treatment or hospital transport for the kid.

And when that happened – when the guy returned to the car – this issue would be resolved. The car would be moved...and the scene would be cleared...and they could all go home and let traffic direct itself.

But in the meantime, Mike just had to resist the usual peer pressure he felt whenever he was on duty with Frank.

...which was easier said than done.

Mike sighed again and then blinked as a driver, distracted by trying to see details of the accident scene, barely missed hitting Frank with his car.

"What the hell...?" Frank blurted angrily, glaring as he waved at the driver to stop and then proceeded to stomp in the direction of the halted car, splashing shallow puddles on the asphalt and swearing heatedly.

Mike couldn't help but smile at the stroke of luck; glad that Frank wasn't hurt but thankful for the near-miss since it would keep his partner occupied for at least the next 20 minutes.

He just hoped that was enough time for the firemen to complete the rescue of that kid.

Mike cringed at the thought; because even without knowing the kid's injuries, he still knew the kid had been in the water for entirely too long, especially on a night as cold as this one.

Mike shook his head in sympathy, glancing over his shoulder at the generator as it continued to rumble noisily beside the fire truck and powered the Jaws of Life currently being hauled down the ditch bank to peel open the wrecked pickup.

"Hang on, kid..." Mike urged the stranger in the truck below and then glanced at Frank still raising hell with the driver who had almost run him over seconds before, having forgotten how ridiculously animated Frank became when he was pissed.

Mike chuckled at his partner's rant, thankful for the light moment, and then redirected his attention to the oncoming traffic, resuming his job of motioning cars around the accident scene and on their way.

Nearby, the constant roar of the generator vibrated the ground as the slight tremors traveled down the steep slope and tickled the edge of the rising water in the ditch, causing it to ripple.

The image was peaceful, as if the night was calm and a gentle breeze was blowing across a narrow river; as if a kid wasn't on the verge of drowning while trapped in a wrecked truck submerged in the frigid water rapidly filling the ditch.

Still crouched beside the driver's door of the truck, Dean shifted for a better view of his brother. "Hang on, Sammy..." he encouraged, having lost count of how many times he had repeated those three words over the past minute. "Just hang on..." he urged, readjusting his hold on the flashlight while tightening his grip on his brother's limp hand.

Sam didn't respond but instead choked on the water that filled his mouth, coughing and gasping and staring at Dean through the busted driver's side window; his eyes misted with tears, his expression resigned to his fate.

Dean shook his head, freshly pissed at the situation. "_No_," he growled in reaction to Sam's acceptance that he would probably die like this. "_No fucking way_. You hear me?"

Because Dean could still remember standing in the doorway of that hospital room while he helplessly watched John slip away.

And that wasn't happening with Sam.

Sam wasn't slipping away.

Dean wasn't losing his little brother.

Not like this.

And not tonight.

"Sammy..." Dean called when the kid's eyes closed.

Sam coughed harshly in response, blinking at Dean as he struggled to lift his head higher in a futile attempt to escape the water that was determined to drown him.

But Sam couldn't move; his body still pinned between the truck's steering wheel and the bench seat; the springs having torn through the worn upholstery to prick and puncture the skin on Sam's back.

Not that Sam could feel the pain anymore.

Not that Sam could feel much of anything since his entire body was numb from how long he had been in the freezing water.

"D'n..." Sam gasped, his voice strained by muted pain and panic. "D'n..." he repeated and then coughed. "_D'n..._"

"It's okay," Dean assured, even as he swallowed against the panic that swelled in his own chest at the sound of his brother calling his name over and over; the exhausted kid desperate for the one person who always saved him, who always made things right to rescue him now.

But there was nothing Dean could do.

_Nothing._

Dean clenched his jaw, pissed and scared and _so fucking over this_.

"Just hang on..." Dean told his brother once more, squeezing Sam's hand encouragingly before yelling over his shoulder. "Bobby!"

Because what the fuck was taking the older hunter so long?

It was a ditch bank. Not the fucking Grand Canyon.

"Bobby!" Dean yelled again, shining the flashlight up the steep slope and feeling a brief wave of relief when he saw the older hunter.

"Calm down," Bobby barked back squinting in the glare of the flashlight as he descended the mud-slick slope and reached the edge of the water. "I'm here," he soothed, his tone softening at the unmasked panic in Dean's expression.

"_Hurry..._" was Dean's only response before turning the flashlight's beam and his attention back to Sam.

Bobby nodded.

In the next instant, the tiny ripples caused by the generator's vibrations morphed into small waves as the older hunter hastily plunged into the waist-high water, briefly gasping at how surprisingly cold the water was...and then scowling at the thought of his boys – especially Sam – having been in such conditions for so long.

...which meant mild hypothermia just got added to the list of things to worry about.

Bobby sighed. "How is he?" he asked about their youngest, approaching the wrecked vehicle and crouching beside Dean to peer into the truck's cab.

Dean didn't respond.

He didn't have to.

Bobby could see for himself that Sam was in trouble. "Ah, hell..." he swore as the kid stared back at him with wide, scared eyes.

"Bob – " Sam attempted to greet, but the name was abruptly shortened as he inhaled a mouthful of water.

Dean cringed as Sam audibly choked; his heart slamming in his chest as his brother coughed and wheezed. "Easy..."

"D'n..."

"I know, Sammy," Dean soothed, lacing his fingers with Sam's beneath the water to better maintain a grip on the kid's hand. "I know, man. We're gonna get you out _right now_. I promise."

Sam grunted as he tried to push himself above the water's reach.

But it didn't work.

Sam's movement only caused more pressure in his chest as the steering wheel grinded against his sternum and the dulled pain throughout his body freshly ignited and throbbed with his racing heartbeat.

Sam swallowed, reminded of how badly his head hurt with the drumming of his pulse in his temples. "D'n..."

Dean squeezed his brother's hand, his heart breaking every time Sam said his name in that slurred, whimpered way. "Right here," he assured his brother – because he wasn't leaving Sam, even if that meant drowning right alongside the kid.

Dean cut his eyes at Bobby.

Bobby nodded, sharing Dean's urgency, and glared over his shoulder at the firemen beginning to wade through the water in the ditch. "Move your asses!" he ordered sharply, disgusted by how slow this process had been from the start. "We got a kid drowning over here!"

"What? Shit..." the fireman from earlier hissed at the news and pushed forward with renewed determination, even as the resistance of the water was made worse by the layers of clothes he was wearing and the equipment he was carrying.

Precious seconds passed.

"It's about fucking time!" Dean snapped as the fireman finally arrived at his side with the Jaws of Life.

"Sorry," the fireman lamely apologized but didn't elaborate, correctly assuming that Dean didn't want to hear his excuses about a faulty generator having slowed the rescue process.

"Get him out," Dean ordered, shining the flashlight on Sam and nodding at his brother as the kid struggled to keep his chin above the lapping water. "_Now._"

"Yeah, of course..." the fireman responded, staring at the wrecked truck. "We just gotta figure out the right angle to start cutting."

Dean scowled at that plan. "What?" he demanded, feeling even more pissed when the firemen ignored him and began discussing and pointing at proposed angles like the crushed truck was a geometry problem.

Dean glanced at Bobby, who was also fuming.

"We don't have time for this shit!" the older hunter announced, and Dean nodded his agreement.

Because calculated precision meant nothing when Sam was _fucking drowning_.

The fireman in charge readjusted his hold on the Jaws of Life, tilting his head and nodding at one of the suggestions made by his crew. "That might work," he agreed with another fireman standing beside him. "Maybe if we – "

" – just cut the fucking door off!" Dean interrupted sharply, his urgency increased by the constant sound of Sam coughing and gasping inside the truck. "It can't be that fucking hard!"

The fireman arched an eyebrow at Dean's tone. "Sir..." he began.

But Dean was already handing the flashlight to Bobby as the older hunter switched places with the big brother; Bobby's hand now grasping Sam's beneath the water as Dean moved forward, reaching for the Jaws of Life to show the firemen how it was done.

Because Sam was not going to die while these assholes decided how to rescue him.

They had already wasted enough time.

Sam was already in shock and suffering from the effects of a concussion and hypothermia and god knew what other injuries hadn't even been seen yet.

And Dean was fucking done with this bullshit.

"Whoa..." the fireman commented as Dean approached, surprisingly fearful of the determined expression on Dean's face. "Sir, I ask that you please step back," he ordered, even as _he_ was the one who took a step back from the pissed big brother.

"Like hell I will," Dean responded and continued to slosh through the water in the ditch, his focus on the fireman holding the one thing that could free Sam from the truck.

The fireman swallowed. "Sir, we're the ones trained to use this equipment – "

" – then _use it_," Dean growled, glaring his warning at the other firemen in the ditch who suddenly moved closer as though they planned to stop him; silently communicating that if they laid hands on him...there would be trouble.

Big fucking trouble.

_Do you feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk? _

Dean smirked, more than eager to kick somebody's ass.

The fireman holding the Jaws of Life swallowed nervously and cut his eyes at the other firemen, shaking his head to nonverbally call off his crew.

The firemen hesitated before easing back, giving Dean his space.

There was a beat of tense silence; the generator overhead continuing to roar as Bobby wisely observed, Dean quietly seethed, and Sam coughed harshly.

"Easy..." Bobby soothed, his attention flickering to Sam as he continued to hold the kid's hand beneath the water.

Sam said nothing.

Bobby readjusted the flashlight's beam to shine more directly on Sam; his gaze lingering on the kid to make sure Sam was at least still conscious and breathing before directing his focus back to Dean as he simultaneously monitored both situations with both of his boys.

Dean stared unwaveringly at the firemen, clenching both his fists and his jaw as rage pulsed through him.

Sam coughed once more.

"Just take it easy..." Bobby further urged, his voice calm as the advice was meant to comfort his youngest while also reeling in his oldest since the brothers needed to take it easy for different reasons.

The last thing they needed right now was for Sam to become more agitated...or for Dean to engage in a fistfight with a group of firemen in a flooded ditch.

Jesus...

Bobby sighed, wondering what a quiet life was like.

Seconds passed.

Sam coughed again as water entered his mouth and then squinted at Bobby, seeming startled to find the older hunter keeping vigil beside the truck instead of his brother.

Bobby glanced through the busted driver's window, aware that Sam was staring at him, and smiled encouragingly at the disoriented kid who was clearly in pain and needed to be out of this damn truck.

Sam didn't return the smile but instead frowned his confusion and distress at not seeing his brother. "D'n..." he called weakly, his movements sluggish and futile. "D'n..."

At the sound of his name being called in that familiar slurred voice, Dean instantly turned toward the truck, recognizing the confusion in Sam's tone and crouching so that Sam could see him.

"I'm still here," Dean assured his brother, concerned by how weak and wet Sam's voice sounded now, confirming that the kid had actually inhaled water at some point.

Sam blinked at him, audibly wheezing as water flowed in and out of his mouth.

Dean's stomach twisted as he cut his eyes at the fireman holding the Jaws of Life. "Get him out. _Right. Fucking. Now._" He paused. "Or so help me god, _I'll_ do it. And then I'll kick your worthless asses."

The firemen stared at him wide-eyed.

Dean glared heatedly. "_Move._"

The firemen nodded. "Yes, sir," they responded obediently in unison – as if Dean was authorized to give them orders – and then began moving as one.

The fireman in charge motioned for the other firemen to take their positions around the truck. "First, we'll take off the door," he began to explain to Dean. "And then – "

" – whatever," Dean interrupted brusquely. "Just do it."

Because there wasn't time to outline a _plan_ of action.

There was only time for action.

And that time was _now_.

The fireman nodded once more. "Okay," he agreed. "But..." He paused, clearly hesitant about his next request.

Dean arched an eyebrow. "What?"

The fireman swallowed. "We'll need you to move back."

"Away from Sam?" Dean clarified.

"Away from the truck," the fireman replied, as if that distinction would make a difference.

But away from the truck _was_ away from Sam, even if there was no way around it.

After all, the firemen needed space to work.

And Dean knew that.

So did Bobby.

But still...

Dean sighed.

"Dean..."

"I know," Dean answered before Bobby could continue and then glanced through the busted driver's side window at Sam still trapped inside the truck's cab.

Sam blinked drowsily, spitting out water as quickly as it entered his mouth.

"Sammy..." Dean began, nodding his thanks to Bobby as the older hunter stood and stepped back to allow him to better see his brother. "I'll be right back," he promised, squeezing the kid's hand as he once again held it under the water. "You hear me? _Right back._"

Sam nodded jerkily but said nothing.

"Dean..." Bobby called, reaching to pull the big brother away from the truck. "Let's go."

Because the water was approaching Sam's nose and there would be no way the kid could fight against that.

They were damn lucky he had lasted this long.

Dean sighed harshly. "_Right back_," he repeated his promise to Sam, feeling the kid's hand slip from his grasp as he allowed Bobby to pull him away.

The older hunter's grip remained around his arm as they moved toward the ditch bank, as if Bobby didn't trust Dean to stay away from the truck.

And Dean had to admit, it was harder than he expected to watch other people – _strangers_ – work to save his brother.

Because saving Sam, taking care of Sam was Dean's job.

"There's still plenty to take care of..." Bobby reminded as if he could read Dean's thoughts. "The kid looked pretty banged up. Head wound, probably some cracked ribs...and who knows what kind of injuries might be hiding beneath all that water that we ain't even seen yet."

Dean nodded, shrugging out of Bobby's grip as the older hunter kept the flashlight focused on the scene.

They both watched as the fireman inserted the tip of the Jaws of Life between the crushed driver's side door and the body of the truck.

"We gotta worry about anything being broken?" Bobby asked about Sam, knowing Dean would've asked his brother that during triage.

Dean shook his head. "I don't think so. Sam didn't report anything feeling broken."

"Good," Bobby praised and hoped that fact would remain true after they could fully evaluate Sam's condition once the kid was out of the truck. "No hospital, then."

"Exactly," Dean agreed, remembering his argument with the medic earlier about that topic and then stepping to the right to better see the firemen's progress on prying open the driver's side door.

There was a beat of silence; the generator roaring overhead while the firemen yelled directions to each other as they quickly worked to free Sam from the wreckage.

Bobby sighed. "Do we know how this happened?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, glancing at the older hunter. "Vision."

Bobby arched an eyebrow at the news, not sure what explanation he had expected...but that won't it. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," Dean confirmed dryly, because he wasn't making this shit up. "Sam told me himself."

Bobby nodded thoughtfully. "Does he remember – "

" – no," Dean interrupted, shaking his head. "And we're not gonna worry about it right now," he added, staring meaningfully at the older hunter beside him on the ditch bank.

Because the last thing Dean needed was a little brother upset over something he couldn't remember, over something he couldn't control.

If the vision was gone, it was gone.

They wouldn't go chasing after it; especially since Sam may never remember its details given the head injury he had sustained shortly after the vision had occurred.

And while that sucked and Sam would undoubtedly bitch about it later, Dean couldn't be bothered to care.

Because the only detail that mattered to him was that Sam was okay.

Everything else – including information obtained through a vision – was insignificant by comparison.

"Got it?" Dean checked, still staring at Bobby as the older hunter stood beside him.

Bobby nodded, receiving Dean's message. "I won't mention it," he promised, though he was vaguely curious what the vision had been about and knew Sam wouldn't agree so easily about leaving the issue alone.

But they would cross that bridge later.

For now...

"What the hell is taking so long?" Dean demanded and then blinked when the driver's side door was suddenly cut free.

The water in the ditch sloshed as the sheet of twisted metal and broken glass was carefully passed from one fireman to another as they moved it out of their way.

"There..." Bobby needlessly pointed out and quirked a smile. "Almost done now..."

Dean shook his head in disapproval.

Because _almost _wasn't close enough.

He wanted Sam out _now_.

"'Bout damn time..." Dean grumbled about the door finally being removed and began wading through the water, heading back to his brother as the fireman wielding the Jaws of Life began working to pry the steering wheel away from Sam's body.

Bobby sighed. "Dean..."

Dean ignored him.

Bobby sighed again. "Stubborn idjit..." he muttered, knowing Dean had already stayed away from Sam longer than he had wanted, and followed behind the big brother to referee any conflict likely to arise between Dean and the firemen.

The fireman in charge glanced over his shoulder as Dean appeared behind him. "Sir..." he yelled over the rumble of the Jaws of Life in action. "You need to – "

" – no," Dean informed and shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere," he added and then offered an encouraging smile to Sam as the kid looked up at him from where he remained trapped against the truck's bench seat; the water tickling his nose. "You're doing good, Sammy. Almost there..."

"Sir..." the fireman tried again.

"_No_," Dean repeated, knowing what the fireman was going to say, and then nodded at how close the powerful tip of the Jaws of Life was to Sam's body. "Be careful with him."

Because if this dumbass hurt Sam by not paying attention...

The fireman nodded his understanding of the unspoken threat, reminded that his focus should be on rescuing the trapped kid instead of on arguing with the kid's older brother who clearly didn't follow directions...or play well with others.

The fireman sighed and then directed his attention back to his job, working under Dean's supervision while he carefully maneuvered the Jaws of Life to cut through the steering wheel and pry it away from Sam's chest.

Dean nodded his approval, reaching beneath the water for his knife tucked inside his boot and pushing back one of the other approaching firemen who carried a knife of his own.

"I got this," Dean assured and quickly sliced through the seatbelt, the only thing still holding Sam in place inside the truck.

The result was instant...and unexpected.

With nothing holding him up – and being too cold and weak to remain upright by himself – Sam fell forward, plunging beneath the cold dark water; his head disappearing below the surface before Dean could grab him.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, dropping the knife and immediately reaching for his brother...but grasping nothing. "Sam!" he yelled again.

Because for one heart-stopping moment, Sam was gone; was beyond Dean's reach in the surprisingly deep ditch.

Dean growled his frustration, ignoring the other firemen and even Bobby as they joined the search but instead crouching lower in the water, determined to find his brother first.

And after a few frantic moments, he did.

"Sammy..." Dean breathed in overwhelming relief when his hand brushed his brother's wet hair. "Sammy..." he said again, moving his hand further down to fist Sam's shirt before hauling the kid up.

Sam emerged from the water in one fluid whoosh.

"Sam..." Dean called as his brother came to the surface coughing and gasping.

Sam said nothing, his entire body shaking as he collapsed in the safety of Dean's arms.

* * *

_**TBC**_


	5. Chapter 5

Sam and Dean Winchester were going to be the death of Bobby Singer.

The little shits constantly pulling stunts that damn near gave the older hunter a fucking heart attack.

Like tonight...

It wasn't enough that Sam had experienced a vision and had wrecked the old clunker he had been driving during a raging storm. But the youngest Winchester had to go the proverbial extra mile and end up in a ditch steadily filling with water as well.

And if that wasn't enough, the kid then had to spend the last hour trapped in the truck, literally unable to move as he was pinned to the seat by the wreckage...and literally fighting for his life as the frigid temperature and increasing depth of the water battled for the privilege of killing him first.

Would Sam freeze to death or drown?

Decisions, decisions...

But then without warning, it seemed the decision was made.

Fate had flipped her coin and had made the call as Sam had unexpectedly plunged beneath the water. The kid having finally been freed from the twisted mangle of the truck's cab, the chest-crushing weight of the steering wheel, the breath-stealing restriction of the seatbelt only to fall forward and be caught by the water eager to finish him off.

In one terrifying instant, Sam was gone; had literally been swallowed by the flooded ditch.

Momentarily stunned – horrified by the reality of what had just happened – Bobby had stared in speechless shock before lunging forward alongside Dean, joining the frantic search for their youngest who was too weak and exhausted to save himself.

"Sam!" Dean had yelled, had used that tone the big brother only used when he was panicked; when Sam was out of his sight and in danger and needed to answer _right fucking now_ before Dean started killing shit. "Sam!"

But Sam hadn't answered.

And Sam hadn't surfaced.

And Bobby had silently prayed that they would not lose their kid tonight.

Because while Bobby and Dean had suffered unimaginable losses throughout their lives – both separately and together – Bobby knew neither of them would survive losing Sam.

Sam was their anchor – the sweet, bright-eyed kid who gave hope to an old drunk like Bobby and purpose to a big brother like Dean.

If Sam drowned in this ditch, Bobby knew he would lose _both_ of his boys – and eventually himself, too – and that wasn't happening.

"Not tonight," Bobby had vowed under his breath and had clenched his jaw, freshly pissed at the situation. "C'mon, Sam..." he had then growled; his tone hard with fear and determination as he had reached, reached, _reached_ below the water...and had come up with nothing.

Just like the others wading and splashing through the water around him.

"Where the hell is he?" a fireman had yelled about Sam.

The Jaws of Life having been abandoned to the tall, wet grass on the ditch bank as the entire group of firemen had also joined the search in the flooded ditch.

"Hell if I know..." another fireman had answered as if Sam had pulled off an amazing magic trick. "It's like he fucking disappeared!"

"Shit!" one of the other firemen had hissed, clearly distressed that they had come _this_ close to rescuing the trapped kid from the crushed truck...only to have still lost him to the water that had been the primary threat all along.

"Find him!" the first fireman had ordered his crew and then had directed his attention up the ditch bank. "Hey! We need some help down here!"

The reaction from above had been instant as other rescue workers had crowded the edge of the ditch; their faces shadowed and distorted by the red and blue lights that had continued to flash behind them, illuminating the accident scene.

"What's wrong?" a medic had called down.

And Bobby had snorted – because what _wasn't_ wrong tonight?

His boys should be warm and dry and safe back at his house, sitting beside each other on his couch, eating chili and arguing over which movie to watch.

But no, instead...

"The kid's underwater," the fireman had called back to the medic above. "We need lights!"

And a miracle, it would seem.

But at the moment, they would only receive one of the two.

Flashlight beams, at least a dozen or more, had shone down within seconds of being requested; skipping over the dark banks on either side of the ditch and scanning the top of the water as if the rescue personnel joining the search from above had expected to find Sam either washed up or floating.

Bobby had glanced up in their direction and had glared at the implication – because Sam was _not_ dead.

The kid Bobby knew was a fighter and was too damn stubborn to give up.

...which meant they would find Sam _alive_.

But they needed to find him _now_ before it was too late.

Bobby had nodded at the thought, freshly determined to do just that, and had glanced at Dean beside him in the waist-deep water.

But Dean had ignored the older hunter; had ignored everyone as he had remained focused on the only thing that had mattered to him since the big brother had first left Bobby's house earlier that evening – finding Sam.

It was all that had mattered to Bobby as well as he had continued to reach beneath the water, hoping to grasp something – _anything_ – that felt like it could belong to a lanky, floppy-haired kid.

The firemen in the ditch had continued to yell orders at each other.

The rescue workers above had continued to shine their flashlights down the ditch bank.

Dean had continued to call Sam's name.

Seconds had ticked by – _precious seconds_.

Dean had then growled his frustration and had crouched lower in the water to further his reach, blinking in recognition of what he had finally felt brush against his fingers before abruptly standing and bringing a gasping Sam with him.

All attention had immediately turned toward the unmistakable whoosh of something rapidly surfacing followed by the breathless coughs of a kid nearly drowned.

And despite his pounding heart, Bobby had smiled at the sound; that wet, strangled gasp having been one of the sweetest sounds the older hunter had ever heard.

Because if Sam was coughing and gasping, then he was breathing...and they could deal with the rest.

All of the commotion – the water sloshing and rippling, Sam's lungs stopping and starting, Dean's voice low and murmuring – had attracted the firemen's gazes along with the beams of curious flashlights from overhead.

That had occurred seconds ago.

Now that everyone's eyes had adjusted and their minds believed what they were seeing, an excited hum filtered down from the top of the ditch.

"He found him!" someone from above needlessly announced about Dean having saved his brother and a collective cheer rose from the ditch bank.

"He found him!" someone else from above called, the louder voice clearly meant to inform the rest of the crowd about the good news; those still lingering at the accident scene behind the rescue workers.

"Holy shit, he found him!" one of the firemen repeated, adding his own colorful phrase to reflect the intensity of his relieved amazement.

"Jesus..." Bobby breathed – the closest he came to prayer these days – as relief swelled in his own chest at the sight of a drenched, shivering, coughing Sam held securely in Dean's arms.

Their kid finally safe, having been rescued from a watery grave in a flooded ditch by the same person who had rescued him from a fiery death all those years ago in a burning nursery – neither element standing a chance against Dean.

"Neither fire nor water..." Bobby paraphrased the familiar philosophical quote out of context, giving it a new, more important meaning.

Because neither fire nor water would take Dean's little brother from him...and neither would anything else.

At the sound of the older hunter's voice, Dean glanced at Bobby, squinting in the glare of at least half a dozen flashlights still focused on him and his brother from above.

"_That was too fucking close_," Dean growled at the older hunter, as if Bobby would dispute that, and then returned his focus to Sam as his brother stuttered his name between deep, wet coughs.

"D-D-D'n..." Sam choked out; his wheezed breaths and chattering teeth completely ruining the word.

But Dean smiled anyway, so incredibly thankful to hear his kid calling his name...even if it was a gasped, slurred version.

"D-D'n..."

"You're okay," Dean soothed his brother, the words slightly panted as his heart continued to hammer in his chest with slowly dispersing fear and panic over what had just happened.

Because Dean had almost lost the one person he could not lose.

Dean had almost lost Sam.

"Shit..." Dean hissed at the reality of the near-miss and then swallowed as he stared down at his brother limply resting in his arms; the kid's head lolling against his shoulder.

"D-D'n..." Sam called again between coughs and raspy breaths.

"I'm right here, Sammy. I gotcha..." Dean assured, tightening his hold on his shivering brother. "And you're okay, man. You're okay, you're okay..." he repeated and briefly closed his eyes – the closest _he_ came to prayer these days.

"_Is_ he okay?" Bobby asked, wading closer to his boys and wishing he could better see Sam to gauge the kid's condition for himself.

But even with the flashlight beams shining overhead, it was still dark and shadowy in the ditch.

And Sam clung to Dean, his face turned toward his brother's chest as he sought comfort and reassurance.

"Dean..." Bobby prompted when Dean didn't answer his question about Sam, the big brother understandably preoccupied instead with staring at the coughing, clingy kid supported in his arms.

The kid who had almost drowned tonight in this flooded ditch on Old Mill Road.

Bobby shook his head at the thought; his body still buzzing from the rush of adrenaline.

Because Dean had been right – this had been too fucking close.

...which was why Bobby hoped that Sam had enjoyed his solo trip to town earlier that evening because the kid was surely never going to be allowed out of Dean's sight again after this.

The older hunter chuckled softly in anticipation of the bitchfaced argument Sam would launch against that new rule once the kid was feeling better.

But right now...

Bobby sighed, his gaze scanning every inch of Sam.

Right now their kid was a mess.

"Sammy..." Dean called, readjusting his hold on his brother in preparation of getting the kid on his feet so they could get the hell out of the ditch.

But Sam jerked in Dean's grasp, suddenly coughing so hard that he gagged.

In the next second, dark watery vomit spewed from Sam's mouth back into the flooded ditch from where it had originally came.

Dean frowned at the intensity with which his brother puked as the kid sagged forward in his arms. "Whoa. Hey. Easy..."

"It needs to come up," Bobby advised about the muddy water Sam had swallowed; the advice especially true considering the amount their youngest had ingested and inhaled over the past few minutes during his deep sea adventure at the bottom of the ditch.

"I know," Dean replied bluntly, tightening his grip around his shaking brother as Sam's body spasmed in warning of an encore performance. "But – "

" – D..." Sam interrupted; his hoarse voice barely a whisper as he gasped the first letter of his brother's name before throwing up again.

Dean cringed in sympathy. "Don't try to talk, Sam. You're okay..." he soothed.

Even though it was obvious the kid's stomach and lungs were unhappy with the way they had been treated tonight, especially over the past few minutes.

Bobby watched his kids, angling his body to block most of the flashlight beams still filtering down from above and thus provide the brothers with at least a little privacy.

Sam certainly didn't need a spotlight for this.

And Dean needed to be able to focus on his brother without having to squint against the glare of the flashlights.

Bobby twitched a satisfied smile as his shadow protectively enveloped his boys.

Dean glanced at Bobby, nodding his appreciation of the gesture, and rubbed Sam's shivering back, vaguely wondering which factor was causing the kid to shake more – the physical exertion or the freezing temperatures of the air and water.

Probably a combination...

Dean sighed, eager to get his brother home – warm, dry, and safe – but knowing they couldn't move until Sam was finished with this part.

And hopefully the kid would be finished soon.

But Jesus...how much water did he swallow?

Sam moaned, breathing harshly through his mouth; coughing and spitting and gulping air before retching again.

"You're okay, Sammy. It'll pass," Dean reminded his brother quietly, knowing how easy it was to forget that simple truth when you were the one hurling as violently as Sam was. "Just let it out, man."

Because among all the things Sam needed right now, this was certainly on the list – expelling the unwelcomed water from his body.

But damn...poor kid.

Dean sighed, patiently supporting his brother with one hand while rubbing Sam's back with his other as they all continued to stand and shiver in the waist-deep water of the flooded ditch.

Dean glanced at Bobby, wishing they were back at the older hunter's house – back _home_ – and hating that Sam had to endure this shit on top of everything else the kid had suffered tonight.

Not to mention how much worse Sam's head was going to hurt after all of this vomiting, as if the post-vision migraine and the head injury weren't enough punishment.

Seconds passed.

"This is good for him," Bobby assured quietly as Sam continued to retch, sensing Dean's growing concern and offering comfort to his oldest as his oldest comforted their youngest.

"I know," Dean responded, even as his expression was pinched with worry.

There was a pause.

"But he doesn't need an audience," the protective big brother added, continuing to support a heaving Sam while cutting his eyes at Bobby and then looking beyond the older hunter at the firemen openly staring at the kid spewing watery vomit in the ditch.

Bobby's expression immediately darkened even before he followed Dean's gaze over his shoulder. "No, he doesn't," he agreed, resisting the urge to squint in the glare of the flashlight beams still shining from above, and instead arched a challenging eyebrow at the gawkers.

The firemen blinked back, seemingly frozen in that awkward space between wanting to help but uncertain if such help would be welcomed.

So they did nothing but stare in strange fascination as if they had never seen a person throw up prior to tonight.

Dean shook his head in annoyance and turned to further block their view of Sam with his own body. "Almost over, Sammy..." he promised, having taken care of a sick Sam enough in the past to recognize the subtle change in his brother's breathing pattern to know the kid was almost empty..._finally_.

Behind him, Bobby continued to stare at the firemen. "Can I help you boys?" he asked; the question deceptively casual as if the men had just wandered up on the old hunter's front porch.

The firemen glanced at each other and then back to Bobby.

"We've got a stretcher," one of them announced, the phrase delivered with the same smoothness as Baby's proclamation that she had carried a watermelon.

The fireman vaguely gestured above as the stretcher was being lowered down the ditch bank.

Bobby said nothing, not even bothering to look up because he knew his oldest well enough to know they wouldn't be needing that stretcher.

Dean would help Sam out of the ditch.

Hell, Dean would _carry_ Sam if he had to.

Neither fire nor water...

The reminder made Bobby feel a burst of love and pride for his boys.

"It's coming," the fireman further explained about the stretcher and once again waved his hand in the air as if he was summoning the rescue equipment.

Bobby snorted, not having time to converse with dumbasses, and turned his attention back to Sam and Dean, feeling a fresh wave of relief at the realization that their youngest was no longer hurling but resting breathlessly in Dean's arms.

"Atta boy..." Bobby praised Sam and waded closer to the brothers to check on both of them. "Dean..."

"He's okay," Dean reported, glancing over his shoulder at Bobby. "I think that's the worst of it."

Bobby nodded, that assertion aligning with his past experience with folks who had nearly drowned. But...

"Might be more later," the older hunter warned.

Dean returned the nod. "Yeah," he agreed reluctantly. "But that's later. Right now, I want him home."

"Took the words right outta my mouth," Bobby replied, readjusting the brim of his grungy hat. "I'm ready when you are."

"When _he_ is..." Dean corrected – because nobody would be doing anything until Sam was ready – and refocused on his brother. "Sammy..."

Sam coughed and swallowed, squinting against the pain throbbing in his head and blinking drowsily up at Dean.

Dean quirked an encouraging smile but said nothing as his eyes scanned Sam's face, allowing his brother a few extra seconds to rest while giving the kid a once-over – visually cataloging known injuries and searching for new.

As expected, blood was still everywhere; had been somewhat rinsed by Sam's brief underwater excursion but was quickly being replaced by fresh blood that was now slightly diluted by water...and was thus spreading even more rapidly over Sam's forehead and cheeks and chin and down his neck – a thin watery red mess that stained most of the kid's exposed skin.

Dean sighed, carefully pushing back Sam's wet bangs for a better look at his brother's head wound and feeling the kid flinch.

"S'okay..." Dean murmured, narrowing his eyes as he took in Sam's dilated pupils before focusing his gaze on his brother's most glaringly obvious injury.

The gash at Sam's hairline would require at least three or four stitches – maybe five – and the swollen cut on the kid's left cheek would be sore for a few days but would probably heal on its own. The other various cuts scattered across Sam's face from the busted truck windows were minor as well, and Dean could certainly nurse his brother through the concussion he knew the kid had sustained...and the post-vision migraine...and the sickness that would likely return as a result of both.

What Dean could see didn't worry him as much as what he _couldn't_ see – the threat of pneumonia from abused, oxygen-starved, water-logged lungs...the dangers associated with hypothermia and prolonged exposure to harsh elements...not to mention other injuries he knew nothing about, other wounds that would be impossible to identify until they got Sam out of the ditch.

...which needed to happen_ now_.

"D'n..." Sam slurred, seeming unable to say anything else as he had reverted to his default setting of calling for the one person who always made things right – his big brother.

Dean smiled softly, never tiring of Sam's absolute trust in him.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean calmed, his tone patient and gentle.

Knowing Sam was dazed and injured, sick and shocky, half-frozen and half-drowned, which meant the kid could call Dean's name as many times as he wanted if that's what gave Sam comfort right now.

"You're okay," Dean told his brother and glanced at Bobby as the older hunter moved, causing the water to ripple around them.

"_Is_ he?" Bobby asked, worry making his tone sharp.

Sam's gaze lazily tracked to Bobby, frowning at the harsh edge in the older hunter's voice. "S'wrong...?"

"Nothing," Dean responded automatically to his brother. "Everything's fine," he assured casually and then narrowed his eyes at Bobby; his expression acknowledging Bobby's concern but warning against questions and tones that would potentially upset an already disoriented Sam.

Bobby blinked an apology but held Dean's stare, silently demanding an answer.

Dean sighed. "I think so," he replied vaguely about Sam's condition, about Sam being okay.

Because Sam was breathing and talking, but who the hell knew if Sam was truly okay? The kid had endured a lot of shit over the past hour and needed to get home, needed to get cleaned up, warmed up, and patched up.

And only _then_ would Dean be satisfied that his brother was okay – or at least _would be_ okay.

Dean sighed again.

Still supported by his brother's arms, Sam coughed harshly before releasing a wheezed breath and leaning heavier into Dean's chest.

Dean frowned and instinctively tightened his grip, holding his brother impossibly closer. "Easy, Sammy," he soothed and glanced at Bobby with a renewed urgency.

Because Sam was understandably fading fast, and they needed to move before the kid passed out altogether.

Bobby nodded, instantly understanding the plan, and glanced over his shoulder; visually mapping the best path up the ditch bank to carry their youngest.

"Sammy..." Dean called and waited for his brother to look at him. "Can you walk?"

"Mmhmm," Sam predictably responded and attempted to prove it by pushing against Dean, his muscles weak and uncoordinated.

"Whoa there, Speed Racer..." Dean teased, pleased by Sam's sudden burst of energy, but... "Let me help you."

Sam grunted in response; his lethargic movements further slowed by the resistance of the water.

Dean shook his head at Sam's usual stubbornness, the trait made worse by the impulsivity caused by the kid's concussion and mild hypothermia.

"Hey..." Dean increased his grip around Sam. "Slow down," he warned his brother, not wanting the kid to additionally injure or exhaust himself for his efforts.

Sam continued to feebly push against Dean.

"Hey..." Dean repeated. "You hear me, or what? Sammy..."

Sam glanced at Dean as if he wanted to argue but then sagged against brother's chest instead; his energy vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"Whoa..." Dean commented and then frowned, angling to see Sam's face. "You okay?"

Sam blinked at him.

Dean's frown deepened. "Talk to me, Sam."

Sam nodded and swallowed, his head once again lolling on Dean's shoulder. "M'tired."

"No shit," Dean replied, his tone harsh with annoyance at Sam wearing himself out unnecessarily. "That's why you need to slow the fuck down and let me help you. Got it?"

Sam hummed his distracted agreement and glanced at Bobby as the older hunter turned toward them.

"It's gonna be slow, muddy, and slippery," Bobby informed about their impending trek up the ditch bank. "But if we – "

" – hey..." the fireman from earlier suddenly called, and Bobby blinked as his thoughts scattered. "The medics are waiting up above, and we're ready to transport our accident victim now, so..."

The fireman's voice trailed off as he and his crew waded closer to the brothers with the stretcher in tow, their intention clear – that they planned to take Sam from Dean.

Bobby arched an eyebrow, wondering in this case if the firemen had suddenly grown incredibly big, magical balls or if they were just continuing their trend of being incredibly stupid.

Because there was no way in hell they would be taking Sam from Dean.

No fucking way.

Dean's dismissive snort communicated the same. "No," he replied in response to the firemen's plan; the word simple but his expression lethal, daring them to touch his brother. "I've got him."

The fireman frowned before sighing. "Sir..." he began reasonably, accustomed by now to having to engage in a battle of wills with the older brother. "We're trained to do this." He paused, gesturing toward the stretcher floating nearby. "Please. Let us do our jobs."

"Let_ me_ do _my_ job," Dean countered sharply, glancing down at Sam when the kid's shaking fingers suddenly twisted the saturated fabric of his t-shirt as if Sam feared being snatched from Dean's grasp.

And if that happened, some serious hell would break loose in that flooded ditch.

Because Dean was over this shit; was over protocol and procedure and who was supposed to do what. He just wanted to do _his_ job – just wanted to take care of Sam and protect the kid, especially from having to endure any more trauma tonight.

And with the firemen's track record, they would undoubtedly drop Sam or dump the kid out of the stretcher...or something equally stupid and blunderous.

And Sam didn't need that.

What Sam needed was Dean and Bobby on either side of him, encouraging him and supporting him, guiding his steps and half-carrying him if he needed it just like they had done numerous other times when a hunt had gone bad.

Sam needed the calming comfort of a familiar routine instead of becoming agitated and upset over the detached process of being strapped to a stretcher and carried by strangers.

Right now, Sam needed the constant presence of Dean _right_ beside him.

And that's what the kid was going to get.

Dean clenched his jaw, freshly determined by the wave of possessive protectiveness that surged through him.

"Sir..." the fireman tried again, as if he honestly thought he could bargain with Dean over Sam.

"I've got him," Dean repeated and shifted Sam in his arms; the water in the ditch rippling as he readjusted his grip on his brother and held the kid upright as they prepared to move.

"_We've_ got him," Bobby corrected as he waded forward and positioned himself on the opposite side of Sam, accepting some of his youngest's weight as he carefully pulled the kid's right arm over his shoulder.

Sam winced at the motion, failing to swallow a grunt of pain.

Dean glanced at his brother held securely between himself and Bobby and pressed his hand against Sam's chest to both steady and comfort his kid.

Sam instantly responded, leaning into Dean's touch as a flicker of a smile passed over his dirty, bloody, scratched face; confident that his brother would handle this – all of this.

Dean nodded – because damn right he would handle this – and glanced at Bobby as the older hunter still firmly but gently supporting Sam on the kid's opposite side.

Bobby nodded as well, hoping Dean knew how much he appreciated the oldest Winchester allowing him to help with Sam. That allowance being truly one of the best compliments the older hunter had ever received – to always be trusted enough to help take care of Dean's little brother.

Dean redirected his stare to the firemen, silently ordering them to move.

The firemen stared back.

Dean waited; his hand still resting against Sam's chest, his thumb rubbing back and forth in a familiar, subconscious gesture of comfort.

Sam coughed and shifted uncomfortably, his wheezed breaths remarkably loud in the dark expanse of the flooded ditch.

Bobby narrowed his eyes, his gaze flickering between his boys before settling on the firemen.

Seconds passed, the standoff faintly illuminated by the two or three flashlight beams still shining down from the edge of the ditch above.

The fireman in charge sighed loudly, finally giving in. "Fine," he reluctantly told Dean and motioned his crew to move back and away.

They did so, the water sloshing with their movements.

"You can transport him yourselves," the fireman further agreed about allowing the big brother and the tow truck driver to carry the injured kid up the ditch bank. "But we've got your six," he added and offered a hesitant smile of respect.

Because no matter how huge a pain in the ass this older brother was, the fireman couldn't argue that he clearly loved his little brother and only wanted to do what was best for the kid.

There was a pause before Dean twitched an answering smile, recognizing the familiar military phrase of camaraderie for the olive branch it was meant to be.

Because although Dean had repeatedly butted heads with the firemen during this rescue process, it was clear that they shared Dean's goal – to get Sam to safety.

And that was always appreciated by the oldest Winchester.

"Thanks," Dean replied simply and glanced at Bobby.

Bobby nodded, marginally tightening his grip around Sam as they prepared to move.

Dean focused on his brother. "Alright, Sammy..." he warned, patting Sam's chest to rouse the drowsy kid barely on his feet. "Here we go, man. Just hold on. I've got you."

_We've got you_, Bobby silently corrected. _And we're going home..._ he added with a faint smile, stepping forward as he and Dean began the tedious task of wading through the water and then hiking up the steep, muddy ditch bank with their hurt kid securely supported between them.

* * *

_**TBC**_

_We've got your six. = We've got your back. _

But it's cooler and more fun to say. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Barely two steps up the ditch bank, Sam lost consciousness; the kid slurring Dean's name between a cough and a breathless wheeze before abruptly slumping against his brother's side.

"Whoa..." Dean blurted, even though he had recognized Sam's I'm-about-to-pass-out tone and had cut his eyes at Bobby in warning of having to stop.

The older hunter had nodded his understanding, and they both had halted their ascent as Sam had indeed passed out between them.

Not paying attention, one of the firemen following close behind roughly bumped into Dean's back seconds later.

Dean said nothing in response – didn't even look over his shoulder – but the fireman immediately apologized.

"Sorry," he offered, inwardly cringing as he braced himself for Dean's delayed reaction; knowing Dean would be pissed that he had not only smacked into Dean but had also unintentionally jostled an injured Sam as the kid had suddenly collapsed against his brother.

The fireman exchanged glances with his crew.

The other firemen offered varied responses; some shrugging while others just stared.

They all waited.

But Dean continued to ignore them, instead focusing on widening his stance to better maintain his balance on the steep slope of the ditch bank as he accepted most of Sam's weight; his brother having predictably turned more toward him than Bobby when the kid had felt himself on the edge of consciousness.

And now Dean had an armful of boneless little brother; a drenched and shivering Sam resting against him as they stood at an awkward angle on the ditch bank; the kid's blood freshly soaking into Dean's saturated shirt as Sam's head had landed in the hollow between Dean's neck and shoulder.

Dean sighed, having expected this – Sam's body too exhausted and weak to tolerate much movement.

But he was still worried about his brother.

And it seemed Bobby was worried about the kid as well.

"He okay?" the older hunter asked, concern coloring his tone as he watched Dean carefully shrug and lift Sam's head with the motion to better see their youngest's face.

"Yeah. I think so..." Dean replied, brushing back Sam's wet bangs as his eyes scanned over his brother before his cold fingers pressed against Sam's even colder skin, feeling a slow but steady pulse faintly thrumming beneath the kid's jawline.

"You want the stretcher?" one of the firemen asked.

Because that would certainly make this easier; just load the injured kid and move on with not two but _six _men carrying him – _firemen_ specifically trained to do this.

"We still have the stretcher..." the fireman rephrased and vaguely gestured over his shoulder.

Dean didn't even turn around. "No."

The fireman sighed – _of course no_ – and rolled his eyes, safe to do so since Dean wasn't looking at him.

"You sure?" Bobby countered, staring at Dean while still helping to support an unconscious Sam; more than willing to also help carry their youngest up the ditch bank but feeling the need to double-check about the offer of the stretcher.

Dean nodded, his chin lightly bumping into Sam's forehead as his brother rested against him. "I'm sure," he confirmed, his tone making it clear that if anyone mentioned that damn stretcher again, there was going to be trouble.

Bobby nodded, message received.

The firemen did the same.

There was a beat of silence; the scene on the ditch bank faintly illuminated by the flashlight beams that continued to shine down from the other rescue workers still crowded along the edge of the ditch, doing their part as they waited to take a larger part in this rescue once Sam was out of the ditch.

"How is he?" one of the firemen asked, nodding at an unconscious Sam. "Do you need us to – "

" – no, he's fine," Dean interrupted, still not needing or wanting the firemen's assistance with his brother; having taken care of Sam enough over the years to know if the kid was fine or not.

And Sam was fine.

Or at least he _would _be.

"He's fine," Dean repeated, his gaze flickering among the firemen before refocusing on Sam still slumped against him. "He'll be fine."

The firemen exchanged uncertain glances at the confident prediction.

But Bobby nodded; still supporting his half of Sam while watching his both boys, knowing that Dean was right.

Because despite his current condition, Sam would be fine as soon as they got him home; as soon as they got him clean and warm and tended to; as soon as they got him medicated and settled, Sam would be just fine.

They could handle their kid's injuries back at Bobby's.

Over the next few weeks, they would just have to keep check on the effects of Sam's concussion...and monitor his wet, congested breathing to guard against pneumonia...and keep watch on his wounds for possible infection caused by soaking for so long in the muddy ditch water...and deal with the fallout of him not being able to remember his earlier vision.

But otherwise, Sam would be fine..._if they ever got the kid out of this fucking ditch._

Bobby sighed, soothing his frayed nerves by visualizing the familiar outline of his house that would greet them when they turned off the road into his driveway.

But the image only renewed the older hunter's urgency to get his boys there – to get his boys_ home_.

There was a pause.

Bobby cleared his throat. "What do you wanna do?" he asked Dean about Sam, having learned from experience that no one – not even him – made decisions about Dean's little brother without first checking with Dean.

Because while it made sense that they would just continue up the ditch bank and carry Sam between them, maybe Dean had another idea.

Maybe Dean wanted to do something else; maybe he wanted to carry Sam a different way.

And when it came to Sam, Dean usually called the shots...especially in situations like this when the kid was too sick, too injured, or too out of it to speak for himself.

Bobby waited.

The firemen behind them waited as well; the one in charge resisting the urge to once again mention the stretcher.

But Dean said nothing, not even acknowledging the others standing around him as his gaze lingered on Sam still slumped against his side.

The silence stretched – the night disrupted by the vague slosh of the water as it rippled at the edge of the ditch bank; the quiet rustling of the wind through the wet, tall grass; the murmur of voices from the other rescue workers still waiting above.

Bobby sighed, the physical strain of standing at this angle on the steep ditch bank beginning to make his legs cramp...not to mention the knot of burning muscles in his lower back beginning to protest his and Dean's shared load.

Because although Bobby and Dean often still thought of Sam as a kid, Sam was most definitely _not _a kid anymore but was taller than they were and heavier than he looked...especially when he was completely unconscious and supported none of his own weight.

Bobby tightened his grip around Sam's wrist; the kid's arm still pulled across his shoulders even though Sam's body was turned almost entirely toward Dean.

...which meant Dean's muscles had to be cramping and burning as well.

But Dean didn't seem to mind as he patiently supported his brother; staring down at Sam and continuing to monitor the kid's vitals; his fingers keeping check on Sam's pulse as he listened to his brother's noisy inhalations.

And that was important. They didn't need to move until Sam's shocky condition was relatively stable again.

But...

Bobby cleared his throat once more. "Dean..."

Because Bobby didn't mean to rush, but he wasn't as young as he used to be and there was an expiration on his endurance and stamina that was quickly approaching.

Plus, the night air wasn't getting any less damp or cold...and Sam wasn't getting any less hypothermic.

Neither was Dean.

After all, Sam hadn't been the only brother freezing his ass off in this ditch over the past hour – Dean had been _right beside_ the scared, injured kid since he had arrived at the scene.

At the reminder, Bobby felt a fresh swell of pride for his oldest – constantly amazed by how selfless Dean was when it came to Sam – and twitched a smile before also reminding himself that now was not the time to be sappy.

Now was the time for action.

And Bobby's primary concern right now was getting his drenched and freezing boys dry and warm and _home_.

In fact, that combination sounded damn good to the older hunter as well since Bobby was also wet and cold from his time spent alongside the brothers in the flooded ditch.

"Dean..." Bobby called again, his thinning patience sharpening his tone and finally attracting the attention of his oldest. "We need to move. _Now._"

There. Decision made.

The firemen still positioned behind the big brother and the tow truck driver on the ditch bank nodded their agreement but shifted nervously, each expecting Dean to deliver a heated comeback to Bobby's order.

Bobby waited for the same, prepared for equally sharp words and an annoyed scowl from his oldest.

But Dean only nodded, shaking off the effects of exposure and of his own trauma that had momentarily dulled his reaction time. He blinked, instantly feeling more alert, and was reminded that his priority was getting the injured, half-frozen, nearly drowned, passed out kid currently resting against him _out _of this ditch.

Sam needed to get dry and warm and clean and stitched and medicated and fed and hydrated...and the list went on.

But none of that could happen until they got Sam _home_.

And that's exactly where Dean was taking him.

Dean smiled fondly despite their situation. "Hang on, Sammy..." he urged his unconscious brother and then glanced at Bobby.

Bobby stared back, relieved to see the spark of determination return to Dean's eyes.

"Alright. We're moving. Let's go..." Dean announced; then paused, cutting his eyes at Bobby once more. "Just be careful with him..."

Be careful with Sam – like Bobby would be anything _but_ careful with the unconscious kid between them.

But Bobby made no comment as he nodded, pleased to see Dean now free from whatever daze he had momentarily been lost in and instead back in charge of his big brother role.

Because nobody handled that role like Dean.

_Nobody. _

Bobby twitched a smile and nodded again.

Dean nodded as well and shifted beneath Sam in preparation to move; the fingers of his left hand holding Sam's left wrist while his right arm wrapped more securely around Sam's slim waist as they stepped forward.

Bobby readjusted his grasp on their youngest and matched his steps with Dean's as Dean led the way.

The firemen followed.

Eight men, nine counting Sam, all heading in the same direction – _up and out_.

The flashlight beams lit their way.

Several minutes passed; the earlier storm having made the ground muddy and the grass slippery, increasing the difficulty of the climb up the already steep bank.

Dean swallowed a grunt as the toes of his boots dug into the soft, wet earth, carving out footholds while his heels sunk into the muck before he roughly pulled them up and pushed forward, leaving cleat prints in his wake.

Beside him, Bobby was fighting the same battle – his boots becoming temporarily stuck in the mud with every step he took.

It was an exhausting routine, like hiking in quicksand.

Behind them, the firemen trudged and cursed; their boots also sinking in the mud.

_Squish, suck, pop..._

_Squish, suck, pop..._

One step after another...an echoing chorus of perseverance and determination to complete this rescue.

_Squish, suck, pop..._

And through it all, Sam remained oblivious; eyes closed, body lax, head bobbing on Dean's shoulder as he was held securely but awkwardly between his big brother and Bobby.

Dean shook his head. The things he and the older hunter did for this kid...

Though honestly, there was_ nothing_ they wouldn't do for this kid.

Several more minutes passed; the trip to the top taking longer than expected since they were literally ankle deep in the ongoing Battle of Mud...not to mention the added challenge of carrying close to 200 pounds of unconscious little brother.

This climb under these conditions could qualify as a fucking Olympic event.

_Jesus..._

Dean clenched his jaw, increasing his grip around Sam as his brother seemed to sag, and then continued to push himself forward even as he could feel his own muscles trembling from exertion and fatigue; even as he was beginning to wonder if they were _ever_ going to make it out of this fucking ditch.

"We're almost there," Bobby encouraged, sensing Dean's frustration, and saw Dean nod in response; his oldest too focused on the task at hand to waste time or breath on actually speaking.

They continued to climb with the firemen following; the flashlight beams still shining from above serving as the proverbial lights at the end of this long-ass tunnel shaped like a flooded ditch.

Dean and Bobby continued to support Sam between them; the kid's arms across both of their shoulders but Sam's head still lolling against Dean and rocking back and forth with each step they took – the repetitive motion strangely trusting and thus igniting a wave of protectiveness in Dean.

Because no matter how much this sucked...or how hard this was...or how sore and tired he was, Sam was depending on him, was depending on _Dean_.

And that was the only reminder the big brother needed to keep going.

Dean nodded; his jaw aching from how tightly he was still clenching it as he completely focused on putting one foot in front of the other without rushing, without unintentionally hurting Sam or unnecessarily exhausting himself any further.

Because getting Sam out of the ditch was only half the battle; getting Sam home and taking care of him was the other half, and Dean would need his energy.

Bobby would need _his_ energy as well.

After all, once Sam was safely out of the ditch, the police and firemen would still want the pickup truck removed from the ditch as well as part of clearing the accident scene, even if the old clunker was truly a piece of junk now with the damage it had sustained in the wreck and in the iron grip of the Jaws of Life.

But that was protocol – to tow away the vehicle casualties – and Dean could handle transporting Sam back to Bobby's; could take care of the kid by himself until the older hunter made it home.

Actually, Dean _preferred_ to take care of the Sam by himself.

But for now, they kept climbing; Dean and Bobby keeping their pace steady and their movements careful, always aware of the precious cargo they were carrying between them.

Sam remained unconscious.

The firemen continued to follow; watching Dean and Bobby's six as promised; having their backs should they need help.

But the older brother and the tow truck driver were holding their own, quite literally.

Seconds passed.

The top of the ditch bank drew closer until it was steps away...finally.

"Glory, glory..._halle-fucking-lujah..._" Dean quipped, his tone reflecting his exhausted relief as well as his dark mood.

Because this ordeal had taken _too fucking long_ and if Sam's overall condition had worsened because of it...

"He'll be fine," Bobby soothed, knowing Dean's thoughts, especially since he shared the big brother's concern. "We'll get him home...and he'll be fine," the older hunter assured about Sam and then swallowed, winded more than he would admit by the climb up the ditch bank; physical exertion to this extent always being an unpleasant reminder that he was no spring chicken.

But Father Time could go fuck himself, the bastard.

Bobby had a job to do – to help rescue his youngest – and he damn well was going to continue to do it even if he was huffing and puffing like the fat old man he was.

Dean glanced at Bobby as they drew nearer to the top of the ditch. "Are_ you_ fine?" he asked, only half joking.

Because the older hunter was flushed despite the cool night air and was panting as though he had raced up the ditch bank.

Bobby glared, even as he was touched by Dean's thinly veiled concern. "Shut up," he growled.

Dean twitched a smile.

"Smartass," Bobby added and shook his head irritably.

Dean chuckled once – hearing the affection in the older hunter's tone – and nodded.

"Good," Dean replied, responding to Bobby's indirect assertion that he was indeed fine, and then refocused on the one among them who was most certainly _not_ fine – Sam.

Bobby followed Dean's gaze. "Is he still out?" he asked about Sam's state of consciousness, unable to see for himself since the kid's face was still turned toward Dean – _always_ turned toward Dean in response to the same instinct that always made Dean turn toward Sam...brother seeking brother.

I'm here. You're here.

We're together.

All that ever mattered..._we're together_.

The soul-deep bond those boys shared was enough to make an old hunter's heart ache.

Bobby cleared his throat and shook his head, not having time for feelings right now.

"Is he?" Bobby checked, still asking about whether or not Sam remained unconscious.

But their youngest hadn't moved or made a sound, so...

"Oh, yeah..." Dean confirmed about the kid still passed out against him and then glanced up, squinting in the glare of the flashlights as someone above started yelling.

"They're here!" a man called as if they were guests at a surprise party. "They're here!" he said again, alternately peering over the edge of the ditch and looking back over his shoulder at the waiting crowd. "They're here!"

The two-word phrase then echoed in a game of verbal dominoes. The announcement repeated several times in different voices as word spread through the accident scene that finally – _finally_ – the kid and his rescuers were nearing the top of the ditch bank.

"It's a miracle," someone proclaimed and others readily agreed.

But those declarations were almost immediately followed by frowns once they more fully realized Sam's condition.

Because maybe they had spoken too soon since the kid who had been trapped in the crushed truck, the kid who had almost drowned in the flooded ditch now hung limply between his two primary rescuers.

The concerning sight ignited a murmur of worried suspicions through the crowd that continued to watch their slow ascent.

"Oh my god..." the same someone gasped seconds later. "Is he alive?"

"Of course he is," someone else dismissed, refusing anything but a happy ending to this scene. "He's just tired and hurt."

"Well, yeah..." the first person agreed...because _duh_. Someone didn't survive a crash like this one without at least being tired and hurt. "But is he even conscious?"

The other person shrugged since from where they stood, it was impossible to see if the kid was awake. "Hard to tell."

The first person nodded and remained quiet as they watched the rescuers and firemen approach the edge of the ditch.

"Here comes the fun part..." Bobby commented sarcastically and sighed at the task in front of them.

Dean sighed as well and stared upwards, his gaze scanning the edge of the ditch bank for the best area to transfer Sam over the side.

Bobby did the same. "How do you wanna do this?" he asked, glancing at his oldest as he and Dean once again halted their ascent.

Because while the next step they took would finally put them over the edge of the ditch bank, it wasn't going to be that easy.

The top of the ditch jutted out at a sharp angle that would make it impossible to simply carry Sam over it. Instead, the kid would have to be _lifted_ over it, meaning either Dean or Bobby would have to support Sam on the ditch bank long enough for the other to climb out of the ditch and then pull the kid up.

Dean glanced at Bobby, uncertain if the older hunter could hold Sam by himself even though doing so would require less effort and strength than hauling Sam up and over the edge of the ditch.

But still...Sam was _heavy..._and the incline was _steep_...and Bobby was already noticeably struggling to keep his balance even with Dean supporting more than half of Sam's weight.

So, maybe...

Dean sighed, his gaze going beyond Bobby as he decided to finally let the firemen do what they had wanted to do all night – help with Sam.

After all, an extra six pairs of hands were better than just two, and Dean was over this – didn't care as much anymore about his default setting of self-reliance as he did about getting his brother _out of this fucking ditch_ and headed home.

Dean nodded, decision made, and glanced at Bobby.

Having silently followed Dean's train of thought, the older hunter returned the nod, agreeing with Dean's plan...and secretly grateful.

Because while Bobby wanted to be able to hold Sam by himself, he loved the kid enough to admit there was no way he could do that now, not after the unforgiving trek up the ditch bank.

And god forbid if Sam accidently slipped from his grasp while the kid was on his watch...

Just the thought made Bobby want to shudder.

"Hey..." Dean called, scattering Bobby's thoughts as he stared past the older hunter.

The firemen startled slightly at the sound of Dean's voice and stared back at the older brother; equal parts interested and wary.

"Come help hold him," Dean ordered, gesturing toward Sam; his little brother almost fully leaning against him now that they had stopped climbing.

The fireman in charge blinked at the unexpected turn of events. "What?"

Dean narrowed his eyes in annoyance, not bothering to repeat his first order but simply issuing another. "_Now_," he growled, pleased to see the firemen move their asses in response; all six men suddenly crowding around him and Sam and Bobby to lend their strength and physical support.

"But where are _you_ going?" one of them asked Dean, accepting Sam's weight as he traded places with the big brother; the transfer slow and gentle in order not to jostle the injured kid.

Dean didn't answer the question, too focused on Sam instead. "Be careful with him. Support his head..." he told the fireman, sounding like he was giving instructions on the proper way to hold a baby Sammy.

And in a way, that's _exactly_ how this felt – handing your child over to complete strangers, trusting them to take care of him in your absence.

"I've got him..." Bobby assured Dean, reaching to guide Sam's head to _his_ shoulder; a paternal protectiveness stirring in the older hunter's chest.

Dean nodded, his gaze lingering on his brother; reminding himself that his absence from Sam would only be brief and that this was best for the kid; that Sam wasn't alone with the firemen but had Bobby beside him as well.

It was a small comfort.

Meanwhile, Sam remained unconscious, limply sagging between Bobby and this other fireman who had taken Dean's place; the other firemen gathered around on the steep ditch bank and offering support from behind and on both sides.

Sam was as safe as he could get in this current situation.

...which meant it was time for Dean to move forward with the final part of this rescue.

"Okay..." Dean sighed; his boots slipping in the mud and wet grass as he carefully turned on the ditch bank. "Be ready when I am," he called over his shoulder to Bobby and the firemen.

Because when he reached the top and was in position to pull Sam up, he did _not _want to wait for them to hand him his brother.

"And be careful with him..." Dean added, once again repeating his motto of the night; that detail more important than any other – that whoever was handling Sam was careful with the kid.

Because Sam had enough problems – was already cold and wet and bloody – without having to endure something else happening.

"We've got him," Bobby once again assured Dean about Sam. "_You_ be careful," he warned, watching as Dean climbed the steep bank.

Dean grunted his acknowledgement of the older hunter's concern for his safety but made no other response.

Seconds later, Dean grasped the outstretched hands above; other rescue workers reaching for him and helping to pull him over the edge of the ditch.

Bobby released the breath he had been holding. "Atta boy…" he quietly praised, nodding his approval of Dean's successful climb and feeling a wave of relief; thankful this ordeal was almost over.

"Okay, sir..." one of the policemen told Dean, attempting to push the big brother away from the ditch and toward the waiting ambulance instead. "You go get checked out by the medics and leave this to us. Don't worry. We'll handle the rest. We'll get your brother out."

Dean scowled and snatched from the policeman's grasp. "Like hell you will," he snapped and was freshly thankful that _he_ was the one who had come up the ditch bank first.

Because although Dean was confident that Bobby would have protected Sam from the obviously eager and anxious crowd waiting for them, _he_ wanted to be the one who stood between them and his brother; _he_ wanted to be the one to shield Sam from pushy policemen and grabby medics.

The policeman frowned at Dean. "Sir..."

"_I'm_ getting Sam out," Dean informed, his tone leaving no room for debate. "Just stand by in case I need you..." he added, knowing his pride wasn't worth the risk of Sam getting hurt in this process.

So if it turned out that he needed extra hands to safely lift his brother from the ditch, then Dean would ask for them.

But for now...

Dean crouched beside the edge of the ditch and then eased himself down on his stomach; his cold, wet body on the cold, wet ground as he reached over the side for his brother.

"Let's go. Let me have him..." Dean ordered and nodded at Bobby and the firemen as they stared up at him with Sam still supported in the middle of their huddle on the ditch bank below.

Bobby returned the nod. "You heard him," he told the firemen. "Let's go. Slow and steady..."

The firemen nodded as well; all six moving in step with Bobby as the older hunter led the way up the ditch bank.

Dean watched, his heart hammering in his chest; never comfortable with other people being in full charge of Sam's care...even if those other people included Bobby.

Seconds passed.

"Almost there..." Bobby announced, the encouragement meant for himself as much as for the firemen. "Just keep it slow and steady, boys..."

The firemen nodded again and kept climbing; some helping to carry Sam while others provided the strength and solidarity of a cohesive unit as they moved as one.

Bobby clenched his jaw, pushing through the pain in his arms and legs and back as he climbed; reminding himself that the only thing that mattered was getting Sam home.

Bobby nodded and glanced at his youngest as the kid's head continued to rest on his shoulder...and then did a double-take when he realized Sam's eyes were open.

"Whoa..." the older hunter blurted. "Stop."

The firemen instantly obeyed, halting their ascent mere inches from Dean's reach and directing their attention to Bobby.

Dean did the same, frowning as he stared at Bobby. "What? What's wrong?" he demanded and then saw for himself as Sam moved his head.

"He's waking up," Bobby informed, knowing that Dean had noticed his brother's barely perceptible movement, and then smiled at Sam as the kid blinked at him. "It's okay," the older hunter assured his youngest.

But Sam didn't respond; his eyes squinted in pain and confusion as his gaze roamed the immediate area.

Bobby recognized the vacant expression that was strangely focused; Sam hurting from the injuries he had sustained in the wreck and being disoriented by all that he had endured in the flooded ditch, but the kid still clearly having a purpose for his visual search.

Bobby glanced up at Dean. "I think he's looking for you."

Dean nodded – because _of course_ Sam was looking for him.

"Sammy..." Dean called; the wet grass and mud freshly coating his already dirty, saturated clothes as he continued to sprawl on his stomach and slid his body closer to the edge of the ditch to better reach for Sam.

Still resting against Bobby's shoulder, Sam's head slowly turned in the direction of Dean's voice, seeking his brother.

Dean smiled as Sam blinked up at him.

Sam swallowed. "D'n..." he slurred; the name barely a word inside the wheezed breath and hoarse voice.

"Right here, man..." Dean assured calmly, his smile briefly widening as Sam visibly relaxed at the sight of him. "I'm right here. And you're okay. But what d'ya say we get you the hell outta here and go home?"

Sam swallowed again before uncoordinatedly nodding, his head moving back and forth on Bobby's shoulder.

Dean returned the nod. "Okay. Just hang on, Sammy..." he urged and then motioned for Bobby and the firemen to hand over Sam.

"Alright, on three..." Bobby ordered, briefly making eye contact with each fireman to make sure they were all in sync.

The firemen nodded.

"One..." Bobby counted.

Everyone assumed their positions, ready to lift.

"Two..."

Dean's fingers twitched, adrenaline pulsing through his system as he continued to lay on his stomach against the wet ground; the upper half of his body practically hanging over the edge of the ditch to reach Sam.

"Three..."

And with that, Sam was hoisted up; the kid gasping at the pain and dizziness that instantly flared throughout his body from the sudden movement; his injuries protesting the unintentional rough treatment.

"You're okay," Dean soothed his brother, recognizing the pinched expression on Sam's face that reflected the agony coursing through him. "You're okay, you're okay..." he repeated, securely hooking his hands beneath Sam's arms and pulling the kid up while simultaneously trying to slide himself back along ground.

But Dean's boots were slipping in the mud.

...which meant Dean wasn't moving away from the edge of the ditch quick enough...which meant Sam was dangerously dangling in the air, held in Dean's grasp but now beyond Bobby and the firemen's reach and thus beyond their help.

"Shit..." Dean hissed, still lying on his stomach against the ground and feeling the muscles in his arms beginning to shake.

Because Sam was too heavy to hold like this for much longer.

In fact, at this rate, _Sam_ would pull _Dean_ over the edge and they would both end up back at the bottom of the flooded ditch.

Dean clenched his jaw against that possibility – because _no fucking way_ was that going to happen – and continued to struggle, continued to try to push himself back from the ditch and thus pull Sam to safety.

Below, Bobby and the firemen watched in speechless horror; all seven men slipping in the mud and falling over each other as they tried to scramble up the ditch bank to help the brothers before it was too late.

Still held in Dean's grasp, Sam whimpered and moaned; the pain from his injuries intensifying at being held so awkwardly; his torso barely supported while his lower half continued to dangle over the edge.

"Shit..." Dean repeated, his heart pounding in his temples.

Because this was not happening.

_This was not happening._

"Hang on, Sammy..." Dean called to his brother, tightening his grip under Sam's arms, and then cut his eyes over his shoulder. "Grab my legs!" he yelled at the policeman and other rescue workers seeming too stunned to move. "Now! Grab my legs!"

The men blinked, instantly understanding the implication of that order, and lunged forward – at least four of them grabbing Dean's legs and pulling him back, pulling Dean away from the edge of the ditch...and bringing Sam with him.

"Easy, easy, easy..." Dean warned, thankful for the extra help but concerned how the suddenly rapid pace and rough movement would affect Sam since he was essentially dragging his injured little brother with him along the ground as the policeman and rescue workers pulled them both back.

But Dean would assess Sam's condition in a minute.

For now, he was just happy that Sam was out of the ditch.

_Finally..._the kid was out.

Glory, glory..._halle-fucking-lujah. _

* * *

**_TBC_**


End file.
